Hi, my dear readers!

Yes, I know, the cliffhanger was mean – and I have to admit, this and the following chapter won't be anything better for your nerves.

Because of the whole situations within Stalag 13 just right now, I don't want to reveal everything (yes, I'm mean again).

I hope you're going to like it,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 62 – Taking over command

Hogan's mind had gone blank the moment he closed his eyes and heard the shot. Something hot and fluid splashed down on him, shouts and yells filled the air, something bumped against his leg…but there was no pain.

Odd. Shouldn't it hurt a little bit? Or had he taken the bullet to his brain and didn't feel any pain? And why was he still thinking at all?

"Gov'nor! Are you okay?"

Newkirk. Newkirk was here.

There was a gasp and a thud, and Hogan thought to hear Carter groan, "Not again, Louis!"

Someone gripped his shoulders and shook him. Ouch! His back hurt and…the yells around him, the many voices, the cold air from somewhere… It all made no sense.

Hogan opened his eyes and looked straight at a pale Newkirk and a deeply worried Kinchloe, who cowered in front of him. Blinking in confusion – he wasn't dead? – he glanced down on himself. There was blood on his shirt and his trousers, just like it had to be by being shot in the head, but why wasn't he dead? He looked aside towards the raging voices, and the view brought his mind back to work.

Hochstetter was clinging his bleeding, right upper arm while the large figure of Schultz threw a rifle away and landed a powerful punch directly at the former major's jaw – strong enough to hurl the smaller man backwards. And somehow, Hogan began to understand that the shot he had heard had come from Schultz's rifle – that the Bavarian had broken through the door and intervened at the very last second.

"Lord," Hogan whispered, feeling his mind going blank again, while he began to tremble. Death had missed him by a hair's width. Again.

German guards had followed Schultz and surrounded the sergeant and the ex-major, cutting off any sight of them. But either way, Hogan had no eyes for them anymore the moment he heard the desperate sob, followed by his name uttered in so much agony it seemed to stop his heart for a moment.

"Will," he gasped, pushed Newkirk and Kinchloe's helping hands away, and crawled on all four towards his secret lover; almost scared to death as he saw the puddle of blood that was growing beside and beneath the older man.

"I hob' dir g'sagt, du sollst sie in Ruh' lasse', du hinterpfurziger Saukerl!" (Bavarian; loosely translated: I told you to leave them alone, you devious bastard)" Schultz roared in the background and socked the ex-major again. If it was pure luck or knowledge, Schultz had hit a certain spot, and Hochstetter fell to the ground unconscious.

"I told you I would protect them," Hans snarled down at the unconscious former SS-man, completely out of breath. As he had heard the typical noises of a combat, he had used the butt of his rifle to break down the door. It was successful after a few hard hits, together with Kinchloe's help. Gripping the weapon tightly with both hands, he had run into the building, followed by Kinch, Carter, and three German guards only to see Hochstetter aiming his pistol at Hogan, who sat against the wall – face betraying the mortal fear that had taken the American in its icy grip. Without wasting a thought, Schultz had unlocked and risen his rifle in one move and pulled the trigger, hitting the former major straight into the upper right arm. Then fury had gotten the better of the usual kind-hearted Bavarian. Despite his high weight, he bolted into Hochstetter and gave him the beating of his life. He only regretted that he knocked out the treacherous man this quickly. Hochstetter deserved so much worse than a few punches.

Taking a deep breath the moment he realized that his opponent was unconscious, Schultz turned around and froze. "Heilige Mutter Gottes, no (Holy Mother of God)!" He cried, as his gaze found his fallen superior and Hogan, who scrambled towards the Kommandant, face white and mirroring pure horror.

Klink had closed his eyes. The second he heard the shot rang out, he knew that everything was over.

Rob was dead.

His beloved troublemaker, his witty fox, the light of his life was gone – shot by this monster in human form. The pain in his belly was nothing compared to the agony that was about to rip his soul apart and made him unable to breathe.

The only good thing that ever happened to him was dead!

The scream that was torn from his lips was a wordless outcry of heart wrenching grief and inhuman torment. He wanted to die – here and now. He wanted to follow Rob no matter where to and…

Strong hands cupped his cheeks, the familiar scent of his beloved reached his nose, while he thought he heard Robert's voice begging him to calm down. So, Rob's ghost – soul – had remained to take him with him. And Will would go gladly, leaving this world that had been destroyed for him the moment fate had taken Robert away from him.

"Will, calm down. I'm here, I'm okay," Hogan pressed his forehead against Wilhelm's icy one. He was deeply shaken by the anguish he saw on Will's face and heard in the way the German sobbed his name, knowing that Klink presumed him dead. "Ssssssh, love…I'm alive," he whispered, low enough to only be heard by Klink. "I'm alive, I'm here. Calm down, Will, please."

Another whimper escaped the older man, and bringing his head beside Klink's, Hogan murmured, "Wake up, Will. It's me. I'm alive. Schultz shot Hochstetter, I'm here." His lips brushed gently over Wilhelm's cheek before he whispered in his lover's ear, "Stay with me, Will, please stay with me." Again, his mouth touched the other man's cheek, his own eyes began to sting. "Come back to me, Will. Please come back."

His voice and his words seemed to reach something in the shaken Oberst.

"Rob?"

It sounded so weak, so small – like it came from a scared child.

"Yes, it's me," Hogan answered, and nuzzled Klink's cheek, not caring who saw him and who didn't. "I'm here, Will. Come on, my phoenix, open your eyes," he begged softly.

A wet and sticky hand cupped his neck and clung to him like a drowning man would hold onto anything that could keep him above the water surface. "Rob?" It was a plea, nothing else.

"Yes," the American whispered. "Yes, it's me. I'm here, Will, I'm here." He bent down even more. His feelings got the better of him. "I love you," he croaked. His lips brushed over Klink's ear. "Ich liebe dich," he repeated quietly in German, knowing how much Wilhelm loved to hear him speaking in his native tongue.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his cheek against Klink's for a long moment, the voices, calls, and other proves of absolute chaos around him not in reach. Like he was cut off from the world, and he and Will were alone.

"Rob?"

Will's voice sounded so fearful, hopeful, and tired in one, it seemed to stab Robert's heart. Straightening his frame, he looked down and gave his secret lover a watery smile the moment those blue eyes were directed on him.

"Robert…" Klink couldn't believe it. There he cowered over him: The love of his life – his Rob. He looked tousled and bruised, but he was alive. "Du…du lebst." Will breathed. (You're alive.)

"Yes, I am," Hogan replied, his gaze blurred with unshed tears he quickly blinked away. Then he glanced down on the injury and felt nausea washing over him. "Will, keep still," he whispered while cupping the bloodied hands of his lover with trembling fingers, knowing that he could do nothing.

Only marginally did he realize that Newkirk and Carter knelt beside him, while Schultz went down on one knee on the other side. More and more guards had come into the building and surrounded them, horrified and shocked. But this all seemed to be far away. Only Wilhelm counted – he, and the bleeding wound.

"Someone get Wilson!" Hogan yelled, while he tried to stop the bleeding. He met Klink's fearful look and felt his mouth going dry. "Just stay calm, Will. We'll get you through this," Robert said hoarsely, knowing that this was a promise he maybe was unable to keep.

Klink shakily lifted one blood smeared hand again as if he wanted to reach for Hogan, who instantly bent down again. Once more, he felt the wet, sticky fingers on his neck as Wilhelm held onto him.

"Our camp…" Klink whispered.

"Don't worry," Hogan murmured, only recognizing at the sidelines that the older man referred to Stalag 13 as their camp. It wasn't the first time, but just right now, it seemed to drone in the colonel's ears. "I'll take care of it," he whispered. With dread, he saw how his beloved's eyes became glassy, and a fear like he had never felt before gripped him. "Stay with me, Will. Bitte! Don't give up! I'll…"

"Out of my way!"

Wilson was there and pushed everyone aside who would impede him. He didn't make even an exception concerning Hogan, whom he forced gently with one hand to the right. "Make room for me, sir," he all but ordered, seeing the state the usually so collected officer was in.

Directing his attention to the wounded Kommandant, he cursed. A stomach shot. This was definitely too much for him to handle properly. Yet, he called Klink's name with unusual gentleness and began to unbutton the Oberst's shirt to get a better look at the injury. "Someone get a first aid kit from the infirmary!" he shouted, and a young soldier hurried away the moment someone translated the words into German.

Hogan cowered at Klink's head. He had wiped his bloodied fingers on his trousers, and his hands were now back on the older man's face to comfort him while he uttered soft words.

Wilson pressed his lips into a thin line before he took a deep breath and looked at his superior officer. He recognized the fright, pain, and increasing desperation in Hogan's eyes and saw all his suspects and assumptions confirmed: the two men were in love. There was no doubt left how deep the colonel's feelings ran for his German counterpart. Hopefully, none of the German guards recognized it, too.

"Joe?" Hogan asked quietly, scared of the answer.

"The bullet is stuck in Colonel Klink's abdomen, and I have no clue if it harmed vital organs or not. At least the main aorta seems to be okay…otherwise he would already be dead. He needs surgery, but it's out of my league," Wilson answered as objectively as possible.

Hogan gulped, a part of him felt numb, while the other half of his self was wide awake and calculated everything with brutal clarity. "Newkirk, I need Dr. Birkhorn at the line yesterday," he said sharply, without taking his eyes away from Will.

"And look if you can find Private Thomas Hauser," Wilson added quickly. "He can lend me a hand here, too."

"I'm on my way," Peter answered, racing out of the room. Outside, the whole compound was crowded. POWs and guards more or less clustered the Kommandant's private quarters, some Germans were still in the watch towers, but they seemed to be ready to leave their duty station any moment. The sirens were still ringing, voices and murmurs filled the air.

Questions rained down on Newkirk the moment he ran down the steps – in German and English. The first rumors were making the round, and they reached from Klink being killed to a massacre within the building.

"Klink's injured and needs a doctor," Newkirk called. "Let me pass through!" He all but pushed his way through the crowd. To his own surprise, he really felt worry for the Kommandant. Somehow along the way, the German officer had become a part of their little family of Barracks 2 – no matter his nationality or the damn war.

He raced towards the Kommandantur, knowing that he couldn't use the hidden telephone station in the tunnels. He had to be seen when he made the call, or their secret wouldn't be a secret anymore.

Two guards were still standing outside of the Kommandantur, and you didn't need to be a genius to figure out how nervous they were.

"Stop," one of them said, lifting his automatic rifle.

"Colonel Klink got a stomach shot. We have to phone the hospital, or he'll die!" Newkirk said out of breath and brushed past the two guards, which let him pass, shocked and completely pale.

Entering Klink's anteroom, Newkirk picked up the receiver of the phone on Hilda's desk and, cursing inwardly, spoke in German to the lady of the exchange on the other end of the line. "Hier ist Stalag 13. Verbinden Sie mich sofort mit dem Hospital in Hammelburg, Doktor Birkhorn. Notfall, Priorität Eins!" (This is Stalag 13. Link me to the hospital in Hammelburg, Dr. Birkhorn. Emergency, priority one!)

The two guards, who flanked him, gaped at him. He gave them an innocent smile and shrugged, "Yeah, I speak German." Then he frowned. "Someone should get Private Hauser. The medic needs him in Klink's quarters."

One of the two guards nodded and left, while Newkirk still waited for the connection. The gov'nor certainly wouldn't be too delighted that the guards knew now that he, Newkirk, spoke fluid German. On the other hand, Klink's life was at stake. And this counted more – at least for the Unsung Heroes and absolutely for Robert Hogan. There was no doubt left how much the two loved each other.

And, what baffled Newkirk, his heart filled with almost painful compassion for them.

*** HH ***

Inside of Klink's quarters, Wilson was still trying to help the Oberst, who went in and out of consciousness. Every time the older man flinched or moaned was like a knife plunging into Robert's chest. Even the glowing iron Hochstetter had threatened him with weeks ago couldn't have pained him more than seeing his beloved like this.

He wasn't aware that his fingers shook or that his eyes burned with unshed tears. But Kinchloe saw it – and he was well aware of the attention the still confused guards gave the two officers.

"Colonel," he said in a mixture of gentleness and firmness, bent down and more or less pulled Hogan on his feet. Determined, he led his superior a few steps away despite Hogan's stiff attempts to break free. "Sir!" Kinch said, more forcefully now, stopped them near the wall, cupped Hogan's shoulder with his hands, and caught the other man's gaze with his. He saw the fear and desperation in those brown eyes, so unusual for the normally crafty and brave officer. It told Kinchloe everything he needed to know. Hogan was about to lose it. "Sir, control yourself," he whispered. "You're giving yourself and Klink away."

The words were spoken too quietly to be heard by anybody else, but they reached Hogan's mind. Kinchloe looked with an intense warning at him while he squeezed his shoulders, and it woke some of the colonel's composure again.

"Right," he gritted out, not aware that he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. "All right," he nodded, becoming aware of the many other men within the room. Turning around, he realized that they all glanced shocked and distraught down on the Kommandant, and some of them also at him. His gaze found Langenscheidt, who stood among the guards and looked helplessly at him – just like Schultz did, who still knelt beside his CO.

Hogan gulped as he began to understand that obviously no one seemed to know what to do now. With Klink being out of commission, Schultz and Langenscheidt too shocked to act, and with utter chaos in the camp, if he interpreted the voices and noises outside correctly, Stalag 13 was turning into a mess. And this could lead to a catastrophe.

'Our camp…' Will had said, and he was right. If you were particular about it, then Stalag 13 was really led by both of them – for years now, to say the truth. And Hogan also realized that he was the only full trained officer left within these wires now.

'Our camp…'

He had promised Wilhelm to take care of it, and he would keep his word. He had to take care that no one else got hurt, which could easily happen with all POWs in the yard after curfew and highly strung guards who had been robbed of any leading.

Training and responsibility kicking in, Hogan straightened his body, cleared his throat, and raised his voice. "Okay, Gentlemen, listen! Chaos takes us nowhere, so calm down." He met some confused gazes, mainly from the older men, and repeated in German, "Meine Herren, alle mal herhören! Chaos bringt uns nirgendwo hin, also beruhigen Sie sich." Wide eyes and gapes were the result, and Hogan grimaced shortly. "Ja, ich spreche Ihre Sprache. (Yes, I'm speaking your language)."

The same moment, a low moan was to hear from the middle of the guards, which looked down with sudden unmasked rage and loathe. Hogan knew the reason for it: Hochstetter was waking up. For a moment, hate was about to overwhelm the colonel, then he took a deep breath to calm himself, while he parallel felt Kinchloe laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm okay," he murmured towards his second in command and close friend. "Guards, secure the ex-major," he ordered sharply, and without hesitation, a few Germans obeyed him.

Hochstetter, who just came around, was roughly pulled on his feet and held within strong grips. Pain shot from his right wrist upwards into his arm, where a throbbing burning was added. Confused and disoriented, he looked around, and as if someone had used a switch, his mind worked properly again as he recognized where he was…and who was only a few steps away from him. His and Hogan's gaze met. Then he saw the many blood spots on the American's uniform and smeared blood prints on his neck. And with it, the memory of what happened returned. A triumphal smile began to play around Hochstetter's mouth. He hadn't been able to kill Hogan, but the colonel's 'dear friend' Klink wouldn't survive. It was a kind of revenge he hadn't planned, but at least he had been able to give the thorn of his existence a payback Hogan would never forget.

Robert felt the almost uncontrollable wish to kill his arch enemy as he saw the gleeful smirk spreading over the smaller man's face. But right now, he had more important things to do…like getting control over the chaos within the camp. Switching into full commando mode and plunging himself into something familiar like taking the lead, his orders came firmly and clear from his lips.

"Baker, go outside and order our men to stay down. No one should think this is the chance to make an attempt for escape or cause trouble. Who doesn't obey this order will be court-martialed at the end of the war."

"Yes, Colonel," Baker nodded, and turned to leave.

"Carter, take care of LeBeau. I think he'll come around soon. I don't want him to faint again when he sees all of this," Hogan ordered, and Andrew raised on his feet.

"Yes, Colonel." He pushed through the guards and bent over the unconscious LeBeau Baker had carefully put in one of the armchairs a minute ago.

Hogan glanced to his left. "Corporal Langenscheidt, go to Klink's office and call General Burkhalter. He has to learn of what happened here. He should come as soon as possible. And take care that this hellish noise stops. The siren isn't needed any longer."

Glad to be told what to do, Langenscheidt holstered his pistol. "Jawohl, Colonel," he answered, and quickly followed Baker outside.

"Corporal Kleiber, correct?" Hogan addressed a younger, red-haired man, who nodded carefully. "Go outside and order the guards to be wary, but to calm down. I gave strict orders that none of my men will cause any trouble, and I'm sure that it's already made the round of what happened here. The guards will be extremely nervous. We don't want another tragedy taking place in this camp."

Hesitating because the American officer had no real authority here, but sounded very reasonable, Kleiber made an affirming gesture. "O-okay, Colonel Hogan," he answered, and almost jogged towards the entrance, trying not to look at his Kommandant, who was still being examined by the camp medic.

Hogan pointed at two further guards. "Gentlemen, accompany him. I know you speak English. Help him to translate between your comrades and my men."

"J-j-j-jawohl, Sir," one said, and followed with his colleague Kleiber.

"I always assumed that it was you who really is in charge of Stalag 13, Hogan. But to take command this officially…" Hochstetter sneered, but was ignored.

The young guard, who had been sent to the infirmary, returned at that moment and offered Wilson the first aid kit. The medic opened it immediately, searching for circulate stabilizing agents.

Schultz rose, pale and deeply shaken. "Colonel Hogan, shall I make the truck ready?" He asked. "If we transport Klink to the hosp…"

"I don't think that he'd survive the transport to Hammelburg," Wilson cut in, not taking the gaze from the injection he was loading. "As far as I see it, the bullet indeed missed the main aorta, but even without this special injury, he has lost a large amount of blood. I don't think I'm able to hold him stable during the transport."

"There is a solution for the blood problem," Robert interrupted him, a part of his mind wide awake enough to get an idea. He again knelt down beside his secret lover, who was going into shock and looking at him with unfocused eyes. Cupping the older man's cheek in a tender gesture, he tried to transmit some strength to Will, while his throat tightened. To hear the labored breaths of the one he loved hurt every fiber of his being. 'Concentrate, Robert! Will's life depends on you keeping a clear mind!' He rebuked himself. His gaze found the chain around Wilhelm's neck that held the dog-tags before his glance wandered down onto the bloodied belly. "Just hold on, Will. We'll get you through this," he murmured, his voice hitched.

"How touching." The mockery in Hochstetter's tone was sickening. "I always thought you two were far too comfortable with each other – too close. I would call it sweet if it wouldn't be so disgusting."

"HALT'S MAUL!" (vulgar for 'shut up') one of the guards snarled. "Noch ein Wort, und ich schlag' dir die Zähne ein, du Mistkerl! (One more word, and I knock out your teeth, you bastard!)".

"C-c-c-cold," Klink barely whispered.

Hogan closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb moved in comforting circles over Will's cold cheek. "Someone get Colonel Klink's comforter from his sleeping chamber," he ordered without looking up. "You'll be warm in no time, Will," he promised softly. Then he carefully took the Oberst's dog-tags in his hand and observed it closely. "Schultz, I know that the German dog-tags reveals the blood type of the wearer like ours do. It's the upper combination of letter, signs and number, right?"

"Yes, that's correct," the large Bavarian answered, and bent over the two officers. He felt nauseous. He and Klink had their differences in the past, yes, but in an odd way, he not only respected, but also liked the Saxonian man. He had come to see a friend in him. The mere thought of maybe losing him woke grief in Schultz.

A guard brought the comforter, and gently Hans spread it over Klink's legs – leaving the belly uncovered to grant Wilson access to the wound. Someone offered him another blanket, Schultz spread over his superior's upper chest and arms; trying to warm him as good as possible.

"B-negative then," Hogan murmured, while glancing at the dog-tags before he gave Klink a reassuring smile – even if he didn't feel any certainty at all. Then he looked up at the guards. "Who of you has the blood type B-negative?"

Two hands were lifted. "Okay, be prepared to donate some blood for your superior. Go outside and ask your comrades who has the same blood type. All of them shall gather at the infirmary. The Kommandant needs a lot of blood to hold on until real help is here."

The two men exchanged a look – to donate blood for a superior officer was a question of honor – and nodded. "Aye, sir," one of them said, not aware that he replied in the correct American way that spoke of him accepting Hogan's authority as the commanding officer within this camp now. The two men vanished, leaving only Schultz and four other guards behind, which secured the still smirking Hochstetter.

"Sir?" Another young man entered the house, stopped dead in his tracks as he saw his fallen CO, gulped, and closed the distance to the little group. "Private Hauser reports," he said to no one particular.

Wilson nodded at him. "Thanks for coming so quickly. I'm going to need all the help I can get."

The young man, pale as he saw the whole mess, laid his rifle aside and knelt down on Klink's other side, carefully touching the officer's shoulder. "Herr Kommandant?" He asked, shocked.

"Hauser…" came the hoarse reply, then Klink closed his eyes, feeling cold, exhaust, and dizzy.

Hogan glanced at the mere boy. He didn't seem to be older than nineteen or twenty. "Do you think you can take blood donations for Colonel Klink?"

Hauser glanced at the American officer beside him. The man's shirt was smeared with blood, some blood splashes were on his pale face, and a bruise began to bloom at his left cheek bone, yet the colonel radiated with a strong authority that made the young private meet him with natural respect. Just like the few times before he had interacted with the colonel. "Yes, sir. My father taught me the basics of field medicine before I was forced to…to leave the university to serve my Fatherland," Hauser answered, in plain English.

"Very good. Run over to the infirmary and prepare everything."

"Jawohl, sir!" Hauser stopped himself in the very last second of saluting Hogan, cleared his throat, scrambled hastily to his feet, took his rifle, and left quickly. Only at the sidelines the colonel realized that the German guards accepted him of being in charge for now, but he didn't waste another thought for it. They all only did what had to be done.

At the same moment, the telephone rang, and the colonel leaped on his feet to be at the dresser in no time. "Hogan here," he reported.

"Newkirk here, sir. I've finally Dr. Birkhorn," Peter replied, something clicked, and a second later the American could hear the German surgeon's voice,

"Colonel Hogan? What did one of your men just tell me? There was an assault, and Oberst Klink got shot?" He sounded flabbergasted and shocked in one.

"Yes, that's correct. I'll pass you to Medic Wilson," Robert said, feeling his throat tightening again at the words 'Oberst Klink got shot'. God, how could everything get out of control like this?

Joe took the receiver, not caring that he left prints with Klink's blood on it. "Dr. Birkhorn? Wilson here. Sir, we have a serious situation at hand." He changed into the medical jargon Hogan understood only half of, but one thing was very clear: Klink wouldn't make it alive to the hospital. Therefore, the surgery would have to take place here – in the camp's infirmary under primitive circumstances. Robert felt sick to the core and wasn't aware that his hands began to tremble again. Only as Kinchloe laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently in silent comfort did he try to regain some control. His body was rigid, his breath was almost too slow, while his heart beat in his throat. But especially his eyes betrayed the emotional storm that raged in his mind and soul.

"Okay, I'll prepare everything, Doctor. How many will be with you?" Wilson's voice caught Hogan's attention. "All right, sir, we'll be ready when you arrive. Thank you!" Joe placed the receiver back on the phone and turned around. "Dr. Birkhorn agrees that a transport to the hospital is too risky for the Kommandant. He's coming with a second surgeon, two surgery nurses, and the needed equipment. He advised me to give Colonel Klink a few blood donations and to lay a drainage, but I also have to make certain that he doesn't suffer internal bleeding. We have to move him to the infirmary."

Schultz turned towards some guards, who just stepped into the building, driven by worry and curiosity. "Get the stretcher," he ordered. "We have to take the Kommandant to the infirmary."

"Jawohl, Herr Feldwebel (sergeant)!"

Hogan only listened with one ear again, not daring to think too close about the things he just heard. "When will the doctor arrive?" he asked Wilson, with strained voice.

"He hopes within half an hour. He has to box everything he needs. Thank the Lord he was still at the hospital as Newkirk reached him. Thank the Lord we repaired the main road between Hammelburg and here last week. Otherwise…" He shook his head.

"Half an hour," Schultz murmured. "That…that is awful long."

"Too long!" Hochstetter spoke up again, still grinning. "There is nothing you can do, Hogan. At least I got one of you…and you will always remember that it was me who took your beloved 'friend' away from you while you could do nothing else than watch him die."

Everyone froze. Dead silence spread through the quarters, the air was thick enough to suffocate someone. Enough. This was finally enough.

Hogan slowly looked up. A deep flush raised in his face while he narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits that gleamed with an unearthly fire.

"Colonel, no," Kinch said quietly, recognizing that his friend had been pushed over his limits.

Hogan headed towards Hochstetter with stiff movements and balled fists, while his nostrils flared.

Schultz's eyes widened as he caught the murderous expression of the usually so collected American. Instinctively, he stepped into his way, knowing that Hogan was forfeiting his life should he kill Hochstetter. No matter whether the former major was a sentenced man or not. "Colonel Hogan, no. He is not worth it," he said, gripping the younger man's upper arm. He gasped as Hogan's strong fingers pealed his own away before the officer pushed him aside, never taking his eyes from the ex-major.

Hochstetter seemed to have understood that he had gone too far. With a suddenly dry mouth, he tried to pull away as his survival instincts kicked in, but the guards detained him mercilessly, looking ready to give him the beating of his life…or to let the American officer do whatever he wanted.

Hogan stopped in front of the former SS-man and stared down at him. And for a moment, Hochstetter saw his death shimmering in those enraged eyes.

"Start praying," Hogan whispered, with a voice that could have frozen hell. He needed every bit of his strength to stop himself from simply strangling his arch enemy. "Pray that he survives, otherwise you're following him."

The ex-major paled, feeling for a second real fear before his defiance against the whole world flared up again. "You wouldn't dare!" He snarled. "You would be executed if you…" He yelped as the colonel gripped the collar of his stolen uniform and clenched the material between his fingers strong enough to cut off Hochstetter's breath.

"I. Will. Kill. You. With my own bare hands if Klink dies…even if it's the last thing I ever do!" he hissed, the ice in his voice turned into heat strong enough to melt iron. "So start praying, because no matter the price I have to pay, I will send you to Satan's realm if Wilhelm dies! I swear this in the names of all higher beings which have moved Earth and people since the beginning of time!"

For the lengths of some seconds, the oath hung gravely between them in the air, and even Schultz and the guards didn't dare to move. It was obvious that only one drop more would be the final straw that would send Hogan over the edge. And none of them wanted to be the reason for it.

Hochstetter was wise enough to keep his mouth shut, realizing suddenly that he was a dead man. It didn't matter if Burkhalter would send him to a firing squad or if Hogan killed him. He was dead – one way or the other. And for once, this knowledge brought back some sanity.

Hogan roughly shoved him backwards and let go of him. "Take him to the cooler! No visitors, no food until General Burkhalter is here," he ordered sharply.

The former SS-man stared at him. "I'm… I'm injured…" he began, but was cut off.

"So is Klink! Just think about it while waiting for the Grim Reaper, and maybe you can also think of all your victims which suffered inhumanely in your sick clutches." Hogan looked at the guards. "Take him away. NOW! Before I do something I'm going to regret!" He brusquely turned his back on Hochstetter, who was roughly pulled towards the entrance.

Glaring down on Klink's pale face, the ex-major snorted before he twisted the knife in Hogan's soul one more time. "Yet you will not be able to safe your lover, Hogan. You will continue your life without him no matter how long it will last. And this is my victory. A triumph over you I'll take with me to my grave."

"TAKE HIM AWAY, OR I FORGET MYSELF!" Schultz roared all of sudden, face red with fury. The men obeyed immediately, clearly disgusted by the short man in their middle.

Only two guards remained now and glanced carefully at their direct superior. "Lover?" One of them asked quietly and shrank as Schultz glared fiercely at him.

"That Hochstetter is completely insane, even you should have realized, Hansen," he snapped. "We all know Oberst Klink's weak spot for pretty women – and the same goes for the colonel! Hell, I wait for the day they propose for the next pretty Fräuleins which come their ways. So Hochstetter's accusations against the two colonels are mad like the rest of his mind."

"I've been in the field long enough before I was taken prisoner, and I saw a lot of men comforting their injured comrades just like Colonel Hogan did a few minutes ago with the Kommandant," Wilson said, without interrupting what he was doing. "Gentle gestures and even kisses are no sins between men who share one and the same fate. That goes for brothers in blood, brothers in soul, and brothers in arms. And sometimes they can do wonders – especially if someone is on the brink of death, and these displays of affection show the injured one that he isn't alone in his agony and fear." He pressed his lips into a short line. 'And especially they do wonders between two humans who truly love each other – and to hell with the gender! What men in the field experience and what they can become to each other can rarely be compared to a usual relationship in times of peace.'

"I… apologize, sir," the private stammered, and Schultz sent him another nasty glare. He knew he couldn't overdo it to not wake more suspects, but a harsh word form a superior could distract the two 'boys' easily.

"You two go outside and secure the building. Except for the guys who get the stretcher, Hogan's men, and Langenscheidt, no one has access to the house. General Burkhalter will investigate everything, and he shall find everything like it is now."

The two guards saluted, spared one concerned glance for their pale, shivering, and dazed superior, then left the wooden house.

Hogan ignored the short intermezzo. Wilson had mentioned something that increased his anxiety even more. "You said the Kommandant needs a lot of blood," he addressed Joe, who tried to stop some of Klink's bleeding.

"Yes."

"Maybe more than the guards can give?" Hogan added.

Wilson took a deep breath. "I have no clue how many of them have B-negative, sir, so…"

"Kinch!" Hogan called, and his second in command closed the distance to him.

"Yes?"

"Go outside and…and ask our men who has the blood type B-negative…and if they would consider to donate some blood to Klink. I know I can't order them to help an official enemy like this, but…Klink always shielded us against Nazi despotism, and he is a good man despite his nationality. If you mention this, then…maybe a few will oversee his uniform and…"

"Don't worry, Colonel, I'll give it my best. None of them has forgotten what he did for you – or what kind of bastard could come after him," Kinchloe said softly, eyes full of worry for his friend. "Just keep it together, Robert," he murmured beneath his breath, using his friend's given name on full purpose. "The men within this camp need you now…all of them." He squeezed his superior's arm and headed for the entrance, following the guards and Hochstetter, whose curses and threats sounded from outside, but were more and more drowned out by the furious shouts and execrations of the guards and even a lot of POWs in the compound.

A low moan came from the living area, followed by a straw of French. Looking over, Hogan saw LeBeau sprawled over an arm chair and beginning to stir. Instantly, Carter blocked the Frenchman's view.

"Wake up, Louis, and come with me. We'll go outside and wait for the doctor, okay?" For once, Carter sounded not like an oversized boy, but surprisingly firm and serious. Helping his friend to the feet, he made certain that Louis got no sight of the injured Kommandant or the blood smeared clothes of their own superior.

"What's the matter here?" LeBeau asked groggily. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you outside," Carter answered sternly, and pushed the tiny Frenchman towards the kitchen to leave the house through the broken backdoor.

For a moment, Hogan felt grateful that at least this problem was solved, then he took a shuddering breath. Filled with cold dread, he knelt down beside Will again. The older man was barely conscious anymore, yet he opened his eyes as he felt the gentle brush of fingertips against his cheek.

"That's it, isn't it?" Will whispered, seeing the anguish in his beloved's eyes.

"No, it isn't!" Robert replied, with a sternness he didn't feel. "Just hang on, Will. Help is on the way." Tenderly, he stroked his lover's temple and combed his fingers into the hair there. "You have to fight; do you hear me? Don't give up." He bent down and murmured, "We'll make this work – you and me. Somehow." He forced a smile on his face. "I promised you to show you the Great Plains one day – and Miami. The French Quarter in New Orleans, and the Grand Canyon. And the dangerous beauty of a tornado. But you have to live, so fight the damn Grim Reaper and his scythe. I won't allow him to take you away from me." He closed the distance to Wilhelm's ear and whispered, "I love you, Will…with all my heart and soul. Don't leave me, Bitte."

Wilson, feeling his throat tightening at those barely audible words, touched his superior's arm. "Sir, I have to treat him," he said softly. He met the colonel's painful gaze and took a deep breath. Sweet Lord, who had decided that love between men was a sin and a crime? He didn't know, but he had the strong urge to punch this someone. He moistened his lips. "I'll do my best to keep him alive until Dr. Birkhorn is here, so…"

Hogan nodded, feeling all of a sudden exhausted and numb, yet the adrenaline in his body didn't grant him any calmness. Sitting back, he watched Joe treat Will, whose blood sticky hand gripped Robert's in a silent plea for help.

"S-s-s-so…cold," Wilhelm whispered, and Rob's sight blurred again as new tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He blinked them away and pressed a kiss on the older man's icy forehead, knowing that neither Wilson, nor Schultz would give him and Klink away.

New steps were to hear, while outside many voices still sounded through the late evening. Langenscheidt returned and the two guards with the stretcher behind him.

"Colonel, I reached General Burkhalter finally. He is still in Nürnberg," he reported to Hogan, as if the American officer was his CO. "He…is absolutely horrified and is coming immediately."

"Good," Hogan murmured, still holding Klink's hand. It seemed to be the only lifeline left for both of them.

TBC…

Yes, I know – it's just another kind of cliffhanger. No-one knows how or if Klink will survive this injury, while the order within the camp spirals out of control – even if Hogan took over command. Yeah, a disbelieving thought, but I've the firm believe that men, who not only see their uniform and heritage, but take their responsibility serious especially in a human way, will always try to keep sorrow and death away from those inside their range.

I hope, you sort of liked how Hogan took control over Stalag 13 for once – weeks, before it was liberated in history. And, of course he knows that this is only for a short time, because he needs the camp 'neutral' to fulfill his missions.

In the next chapter, Burkhalter shows up – and gets a lesson for life he'll never forget (in a positive way). Well, and Hogan had given away himself and Klink more or less, so just guess how his gang will react (finally).

I would be very – VERY – happy to get more reviews, because even if I've written this story many years ago, I edit it with the newest acknowledges concerning WWII, and try to add many things I wasn't aware of as I wrote the story originally. And I also hope that the whole love-story as well as the human side of the most darkest weeks before WWII ends, still touches you.

The next chapter comes within the next week.

Love

Yours Starflight