Hi, my dear readers,
I know, the last chapters made you cling to the edges of your seats, and to reveal something: It isn't over. No, far from it. Hogan certainly faces the longest night of his life, Klink fights the longest nights of his life, and other co-characters are confronting with something likewise.
Therefore I don't want to say what is going to wait for you, just read it.
Brace your nerves,
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 63 – Dreadful waiting
Schultz stepped out of the Kommandant's quarters, blood on his uniform, rifle in one hand, pale and shaken, but his voice was strong as always as he shouted, "PLATZ DA! MACHT PLATZ! The same goes for you, guys. MAKE ROOM! MOVE AND MAKE ROOM!"
Behind him, Klink was brought out on a stretcher secured with some belts and the comforter spread over him. Two guards carried the base, and Hogan and Langenscheidt held the handle on each side of the head section. Wilson already passed them by and ran towards the infirmary to check if everything for Klink's arrival was prepared.
The men retreated – POWs as well as the Luftwaffe members. The voices died down in the compound as the gravely injured man was carried towards the infirmary, only some whispers and murmurs still able to be heard. Most of them were appalled, even the POWs were taken aback and looked uncomfortable. Many of them had reasons to hate the Germans, but they also had learned only three and a half weeks ago that they could have met a worse fate than having Klink as their jailer, who always treated them at least with simple human respect despite his vanity and pompous behavior sometimes. There was not one man among the POWs who would deign him any serious harm, and to see him like this now – pale, with closed eyes, ragged breathing, and blood sipping through the comforter – didn't leave them untouched. And the most of them had known him for years now.
And many of them got goosebumps or were startled as they looked at their commanding officer.
Hogan's face was set in stone and deathly white, his jaw was tightened, and his movements were stiff, but his eyes burned with a fire no one wanted to be directed at himself. He said no word while he carried the wounded Oberst towards the infirmary, the hand around the handle of the stretcher clutching the material strong enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn't feel the coldness of the wind that pierced his shirt that offered no real shelter without his bomber jacket. He didn't see the Barracks, the wires, or the many men around him…not really. They were looming and faceless shadows, nothing more. The real world seemed to be far away, and he was moving through a twilight zone that separated the realm of the living and the dead.
In front of the infirmary a line of men waited – guards and a few POWs. Altogether it was maybe twenty of them, and Schultz, who led the little group towards the building, frowned.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.
A private turned around. "Wir sind hier, um Blut zu spenden, (we're here to donate blood)" the guard answered. "Wir haben die gleiche Blutgruppe wie der Kommandant (We have the same blood type like the Kommandant)," he added, pointing at his eight comrades. "Noch mehr von uns haben B-negativ, aber einige haben Dienst, so… (More of us have B-negative, but they are on duty, and so…)" He shrugged helplessly.
"Olsen?" Hogan asked, as he recognized a member of his closer team in the line, already assuming the presence of the few POWs here.
"Me too, sir. Me and these guys have the same blood type, and we're willing to help," Olsen made a gesture to the six other men, which saluted quickly and spared some uneasy glances at the still figure on the stretcher and their frozen superior.
Robert took a deep breath, feeling proud of his men. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I know I can't order you, but…"
"It's okay, sir," an English pilot said. "Klink is not so bad, and we all owe him your life. So…there will be done no harm if we give him a little bit of blood."
Hogan gave him a short nod. "Thanks, Johnson."
"Kinch is asking the others at the moment," Olsen called after the little group as it entered the building. "I think that there will be more of us who will donate some blood when the going should get rough."
"Thanks, guys. I owe you one," Hogan answered quietly over his shoulder, while he stepped deeper into the infirmary. The lights were switched on, the beds were lined up in two rows and held three guards, and at the side was Thomas Hauser, donating blood from another comrade. At the other side of the salle was another, smaller room from where he heard some noises before Wilson's voice sounded from there. "Over here, Colonel."
Hogan took another deep breath, ignoring the typical smell of disinfection agents and sedatives. He knew that this room would serve as the surgery center, and he felt a shiver running down his spine. Will's, and in certain ways, his own fate would be decided there.
*** HH ***
Twenty minutes later, Hogan's nerves were frazzled. Wilson had managed to stabilize Klink by pumping him full with medications for the blood circulation and gave him several blood transfusions. He had taken care of a drainage, kept the wounded man warm, and helped his body by giving him additional oxygen, but all this was nothing that could save Klink, who was slipping in and out of consciousness.
Outside in the large room, around twenty men sat on beds to rest for one or two hours before they could resume their duty or return to their barracks.
Hogan, who sat at Klink's side and held his hand again, watched with hooded eyes how Wilson prepared everything for a surgery as far as the equipment allowed it. Hauser arrived with more blood bags before he vanished again, looking pale but determined. The colonel couldn't help himself. He admired the young man's objective behavior to help his CO despite that he wasn't a trained medic and had only studied one semester of medicine before he had been forced into the Service.
Kinchloe, Newkirk, and Baker had come to the infirmary a few minutes ago, telling Hogan that approximately three dozen POWs would donate blood if necessary. Carter was in the waiting area with a sick LeBeau, who was so upset about everything that he had vomited two times. It didn't really surprise Robert. He knew how sensible the tiny Frenchman was beyond his hot temper.
Suddenly, a siren was to hear from afar, and turmoil began to spread through the camp.
"Finally," Kinchloe sighed and walked to the door. "I'll go outside and show Dr. Birkhorn the rest of the way."
Hogan only nodded, and bent over Klink. "Dr. Birkhorn's here, Will," he whispered, brushing the back of his fingers over the older man's snowy white cheek. "Just hold on, love, they'll be here soon."
The Oberst's eyelids fluttered before they opened and revealed the glassy blue orbs, which were directed at Hogan; fear mirrored in them. Klink's lips moved, and Robert brought his ear directly over Wilhelm's mouth to understand him.
"My mother…and Wolfgang," Will breathed. "They...live…in Düsseldorf-Grafenberg…Bismarkweg 7. Please…take…care of them."
Hogan felt his eyes burning again. He couldn't prevent tears from dwelling up. "Don't talk like that. You're gonna take care of them after the war and…"
"Rob…the Allies…so many parts of Düsseldorf…are already destroyed…it will get worse…until the war is over." His breath heaved with effort. "My mother…Wolfgang…help them…Please."
Voices drew nearer accompanied by quick steps and orders given in German.
"Will…" Robert whispered, Klink's pleas' sounding far too final. He felt the urge to scream his grief and dread into the world, but he still clung to his control like he did within the last half hour. He gulped. Wilhelm had just entrusted him with his family. There was no other answer possible than the one that lay on Hogan's tongue. "I'll take care of them. I promise. But I can do it best with you, so don't you dare to give up."
A smile, more a grimace than anything else, moved Klink's mouth before he whispered, "Take…my Pickelhaube with you…you'll have… a souvenir of…"
"Don't!" Hogan interrupted him harshly and quickly looked around. Wilson was busy with preparing the next blood donation. Hogan pressed a kiss on Will's lips. "You're going to live, Wilhelm, do you hear me? I won't leave this camp without you, so fight for God's sake!"
And he didn't exaggerate. If Will would die, he entrusted his friends with Klink's family's welfare and would afterwards kill Hochstetter, which meant execution for himself. Yet it wasn't the prospect of his own eventual death that made the American plea with his lover to fight the shadows which threatened to take him away. He couldn't bear to lose him. If Will really would die, the thought of being shot because he had sent Wilhelm's murderer to hell sounded almost appealing. Good God, he had never thought that he could love this deeply that the thought of going on without his beloved scared him more than death.
"I'll fight – for you…my witty fox," Will breathed, not knowing how true those words were. "I love you…just like I told you before…you're the best thing…that ever happened to me…"
Hogan's swallowed the lump in his throat while he furiously blinked tears away. As Will had whispered those words secretly through the phone, he was about to face a whole air raid. He had survived it – but this here was an attack he couldn't escape or fight.
"Colonel Hogan, move!" The forceful voice belonged to Dr. Birkhorn, who entered the room with another man and two young women in tow. "Everyone except for Medic Wilson, out," he ordered, while he looked shortly at the American officer. Good God, the man was beside himself, then the doctor fully concentrated on his patient as he pulled the covers aside. He cursed inwardly. This looked bad.
Being someone who never gave up easily, Birkhorn placed his medical kit on the floor. "Okay, everybody, let's save this man."
"Colonel, come with us," Baker said softly, gripped his CO's upper arm, and pulled him up. For a moment, Hogan still clung to Will's icy fingers, then Richard took him with.
Hogan didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Will, not knowing if he would see him alive again. Suddenly, Kinch was at his side, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and forced him out of the door. "Let them do their job, Robert," he said quietly, using Hogan's given name again to reach him. They weren't colonel and sergeant anymore in this moment, but only two friends of whom one was deeply shaken and feared for his love's life.
Throwing one more glance back over his shoulder, Hogan caught a last sight of how Dr. Birkhorn gave orders while a nurse set up new equipment.
"Keep fighting, Will…don't give up…We'll see each other…soon," he called, with a hoarse voice that betrayed his desperation, then the door was closed and cut him off from Wilhelm.
Hogan felt alone and utterly lost. He didn't know what to do should Will not survive the surgery. Numb with angst and dull despair, he allowed Kinch and Baker to lead him to the waiting area, Newkirk following from behind him. LeBeau and Carter looked up as he entered the small room to the right of the entrance, and without any word, Andrew got him a chair, and Kinchloe helped him to sit down. Closing his eyes, Hogan took a deep, shaky breath and braced his forehead into his right hand, sending prayers to the Heavens to save the man he loved.
He remembered the crazy mission over two years ago as he initiated an accident that had sent Klink to the hospital using the polite 'sick-bed visit' to meet a German informant. Klink hadn't been injured – not really – and Hogan had really wished that there had been more damage. Nothing fatally, mind you, but serious enough that it would keep the Kommandant long enough in the clinic for him to fulfill his mission there. Robert groaned. Had he really risked Will's health like this for one of his sometimes chaotic plans?
He rubbed his face. At that time, he hadn't really cared about the German officer. The building of a real friendship had still been in the future, not to speak of him falling in love with him. Today, the mere thought of what he had done two and a quarter years ago made him nauseous.
"Colonel?" Kinch asked quietly, and Hogan chuckled without any humor.
"Remember the day we sent Klink to the hospital only to get access to Major Zimmer?" He murmured and looked into nothingness straight at the other wall. "Sweet Lord, I can't imagine now that I played with his health like that – that I didn't care about the risk I put him through." He lowered his head and closed his eyes. "To know that he fights for his life right now, in those minutes we're sitting here, and I'm damned to nothing more than to wait and pray, drives me mad."
The others watched him with compassion and understanding. It was James, who muttered finally, "You really love him, don't you."
For a second, Hogan simply nodded – only to turn into a pillar of salt. "What?" he croaked, knowing that he maybe had revealed too much.
Kinch gestured towards Newkirk, who closed the door after he had thrown a careful look outside into the large sick room. Nodding at Kinchloe, he leaned against the wall beside the door. The time of the funny hide-and-seek and amusement was over. They had to speak with Hogan openly about everything that had become so obvious within the last few weeks, but no one besides them should learn about – or Hogan and Klink, if he survived, would land in a concentration camp at best.
"You love him…just like he loves you, Robert," James repeated softly.
Hogan stared at him, startled in rising denial. "What do you mean with 'he loves'…"
"Gov'nor, do you really think we haven't realized what's going on between you two?" Newkirk asked gently. He met Hogan's shocked eyes and cracked a smile.
"You don't kiss a guy on the lips if you're 'only' his friend," Baker teased softly.
Hogan opened his mouth, but Baker was quicker. "Don't deny it, sir. Newkirk and I saw it only two minutes ago – and Wilson, too, who by the way grinned for a moment. I'm sure he's known about you two even longer than we did."
The colonel gulped. "Guys…" he began uneasily, but was interrupted by Carter.
"The way Klink saved you, the way he acted afterwards, the worry and tender care he showed, or how he kicked von Neuhaus out of the camp as he was about to threaten you – boy, if that doesn't speak of love, I don't know what else could." Andrew nodded, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "He risked his life in so many ways to keep you safe, I'm wondering that no one else got it how he feels about you."
"And that you return those sentiments for quite some time now is obvious," Kinch agreed. "The many chess games in the last few weeks, you 'falling asleep' during it, and your late – or better to say – early returns through the tunnels the next morning. The way you two look at each other…his and your reactions within the last hour…" He shook his head; his rich voice was very soft. "You'd have to be blind not to see what's the matter with you two – how much you love each other."
Hogan gulped again, and glanced at LeBeau, who avoided to fully glance at him. Yes, the blood was drying on the colonel's uniform, yet it looked still too fresh to prevent Louis from getting sick again. "Oui, I see it, too – maybe sooner than all the others except for Wilson. I knew you shared a bed even during the early state of your healing…"
"To keep my nightmares at bay," Robert said hoarsely.
"Oui, maybe this was the reason in the beginning, but that led to much more, Colonel. I know how it looks if someone falls in love – and it fits you two. There were and still are so many sparks between you and Klink, it…"
"The boys had to tell me what they meant with those 'sparks'," Andrew cut in eagerly. "But it made sense and after I knew what to look out fir, I saw it all and thought a lot about it. There…"
"Carter!" This came from Kinchloe and Newkirk.
Hogan glanced from one to the other. "You…you guys really knew for all this time that Klink and I…" He glanced at Kinch, who simply shrugged and nodded. "Oh…my…God." Robert groaned, braced up his arms on his thighs, and let his face fall into his hands.
"Don't fret, Gov'nor; no one will learn about it from us," Peter tried to calm him down.
"D'accord." LeBeau nodded. "Okay, I do not understand how a man can develop romantic feelings for another guy – let alone Klink – but love walks strange paths sometimes. And who am I, as a Frenchman, that I wouldn't accept true love if I see it, n'es pas?"
The American officer felt dizzy with the overwhelming knowledge that his and Klink's secret was revealed. Okay, only his friends and Wilson knew about it. And Schultz. Yet still…
"And…you're okay with it?" he asked, thunderstruck, lifting his head again.
"It's your life, Colonel," Baker shrugged. "If you're happy with Klink, well…" He smirked shortly.
"And it really makes sense that you two are together," Carter piped up again. "All the bickering, the teasing, the discussions…the way you pulled each other's leg or drove the other one up the wall. My grandmother always said 'Teasing is a sign of affection', and that goes for you and Klink very well. For a long time now. You always complained about him on a regular basis, but woe someone threatened him, then you went all 'grrr'." He formed his hands to claws. "And I've lost count how often you saved his neck, or how often Klink huffed at you only to get those…those gentle eyes afterwards, letting you off the hook. Hell, he didn't even call the Gestapo as he found you were running around in a German uniform outside of the camp last year. You two manipulate and play each other, but you always make certain that the other one doesn't get hurt. The trust you put into each other, the jokes you share… It really…"
"Is there an 'off' button somewhere hidden on you?" Newkirk moaned. "I really want to use it."
"Why?" Carter replied indignant. "The colonel asked if we're okay with him and Klink being…"
"CARTER!" This time it came from all of them, except for Hogan, who had let his head sink into his neck and glanced at the ceiling. Trust this living chatterbox to bring back some normality, even if it only lasted for a few moments.
So, his men knew about him and Will – and they were obviously okay with it. A weight would have been taken off his shoulders if he wouldn't be so afraid for Wilhelm's life right now. Rubbing his temples, he looked back at his friends, who watched him, eyes full of sympathy. The fleeing moment of teasing was over again, vanishing into the grave situation that influenced even Hogan's gang. They all had come to respect and even like Klink a little bit. And as they saw the sorrow and fear returning on their beloved superior's face, they gathered around him like a flock of elephants that wanted to protect and comfort a hurt family member.
And this they were: a kind of family no outsider would really understand. And in some way, it gave Hogan strength to hold onto his control. At least for now.
Someone knocked on the door, and Schultz entered. Still pale, still shaken. "They'll start the surgery in a few minutes," he said quietly, and sat down on one of the chairs. "God, I wish this night would be over."
Hogan only nodded, even if a part of him feared the end of the night. He could only hope that everything would turn out all right. Otherwise a part of him would die along with his beloved.
*** HH *** HH ***
The moment the car turned around the curve and the camp came into sight, General Albert Burkhalter knew that nothing was like it should be. Most of search lights were turned onto the compound, and he saw the shapes of many, many POWs – despite the fact that it was after nine o'clock in the evening. As the car drew nearer, he also recognized Luftwaffe members, who stood among the POWs. Some of them talked with each other – hence the nationality – others walked in slow circles as if they were waiting for something. Others were smoking. The lights in Klink's quarters and the infirmary were switched on, and guards were watching the entrances to the two buildings as well as the entrance to the Kommandantur and the cooler. And, after a closer look, Burkhalter saw at least some guards in the watch towers, but they were far less strict in securing the camp as if a real revolt would be tried.
'Isn't it typical,' he thought. 'As soon as the cat leaves the house, the mice dance on the table!'
Pressing his lips into a thin line, he watched the somehow calm chaos behind the wires, and again he felt a soft shudder running down his spine as he recalled the reason for it. Klink was gravely injured – not because of a battle within this damn war, but because a turned mad former SS-major wanted revenge and shot him into the gut. Hochstetter had fled from the working camp near Munich, went to Hammelburg, and had somehow entered Stalag 13 to kill Klink. All those efforts, including giving up his regained freedom, only to seek vengeance. It sickened the general.
'Klink was right,' he growled inwardly. 'I should have sent this maniac to the Russian Front or have taken care that he was removed from his duty months ago. A man with such a choleric temper and bottled up hate has no place in the Reich's executive forces.'
They arrived at the gates, and a corporal saluted as he let them pass by. Burkhalter ordered his driver to stop beside the infirmary where he saw an ambulance transporter standing. Why was the vehicle still here? Shouldn't it have brought Klink to the hospital over two hours ago?
Stepping out of the car, Burkhalter closed its door and looked around. He spied Langenscheidt near the Kommandantur, who talked with a few guards, but turned around and saluted quickly as one of the men told him about the general's arrival.
"General Burkhalter," he greeted respectfully.
The staff officer frowned. "Corporal Langenscheidt, what is the meaning of this? Why aren't the POWs restricted to their barracks? It's long past curfew and…"
"Sorry, Herr General, but they are concerned for Kommandant Klink's life and wanted to wait for the surgery's end. I saw no harm in allowing it. Especially because the whole atmosphere is charged enough."
Burkhalter gaped at him. "Surgery? Is Klink being operated here?" He gestured towards the infirmary.
"Yes, the doctors decided that it was too risky to move him to the hospital."
The general swallowed. Good God, this sounded more than bad. Then his attention was driven back to all the men in the compound and Langenscheidt's explanation for their presence.
"And…the prisoners are concerned for him?" He turned around and looked at the POWs which were near. They looked calm, but there was indeed a seriousness and sometimes even graveness on their faces. They seemed to give at least a little bit of concern for what happened to the man who was their jailer. "Was zum Teufel…" (What the hell…) Burkhalter murmured, thunderstruck. "They should cheer instead of…" He shook his head.
"Due all respect, sir, but you don't understand. Oberst Klink is respected among the prisoners – at latest since he rescued Colonel Hogan in January."
The general snorted. Of course. Everything centered around Robert Hogan. Burkhalter growled soundlessly. He still harbored real anger against the American after they both had clashed strongly a few days ago. Hogan could be more stubborn and troublesome than a mule mixed with a large portion of impertinence. Especially when he thought he had to shield his men.
Where was this damn American troublemaker anyways? 'This is really a question you can find an answer on you own,' an inner 'helpful' voice answered. 'Of course Hogan is in the infirmary."
Then Burkhalter's gaze found the line of men near the makeshift hospital, and again guards and POWs were mixed together. "What…?" He began, pointing at them.
"The men are ready to donate blood for the Kommandant should there be more need of it," Langenscheidt explained.
"POWs?" Burkhalter gasped, flabbergasted. "On whose orders?"
"No orders, Herr General. This would be against the Geneva Conventions. Colonel Hogan asked for their support through Sergeant Kinchloe and other members of his team. More than a dozen POWs already donated blood along with our men – and more of them are willing to help if it should come down to it," Langenscheidt said.
For a long moment, Burkhalter could only stare at him wide eyed, then he shook his head as if he would wake up and snorted. "I'm in a parallel world here," he murmured and headed towards the infirmary. "POWs which are concerned for their German jailer's health and even offer to donate blood…I ask myself why something like this is only possible here in Stalag 13. In every other camp, they would celebrate a German officer's upcoming demise."
"Well, I think the reason lays in Oberst Klink's and Colonel Hogan's leading style," the corporal replied carefully.
"Are you telling me that the other Kommandanten aren't doing a good job?" Burkhalter asked, with a frown.
"Nein, Herr General, but there is the old saying that the fish begins to stink at the head – and when the two leading officers, official enemies or not, get along well and treat everyone with simple respect, the first base for a peaceful co-existence is given."
Burkhalter stopped and turned towards the young man. "I would agree with you except for two points, Corporal. The 'head' of the whole fish is me, because I'm responsible for the Luft-Stalags, and a 'peaceful co-existence' of official enemies during a war could be regarded as treason."
Langenscheidt didn't know from where he took the courage to disagree with the staff officer, but after everything that happened within the last three hours, he didn't fear Burkhalter's anger. "You're responsible, Herr General, yes, but the Kommandanten are leading the camps and are in the field, so to say. It's them who are responsible for the tone and the treatment within a camp. And to handle each other with human respect is no treason, but simple courtesy not only we Germans, but also the Americans are well known for."
The general pursed his lips and looked over at the men in the compound – Luftwaffe members and POWs standing side by side. "Just imagine a war is given and nobody comes," he grumbled. "The saying gets a whole new meaning here." He shook his head and went to the infirmary, Langenscheidt in tow. "Where is Sergeant Schultz, by the way? Isn't he in charge in the moment?"
'No, it's Colonel Hogan, who leads the camp now,' Langenscheidt thought, but was wise enough not to voice this wry comment. "He's in the infirmary, sir."
"Was he wounded, too?"
"No, not to my knowledge," the corporal answered carefully.
Burkhalter entered the salle and glanced at the men resting on the beds. Some of the guards looked up, recognized him, and were about to rise and begin to salute.
"At ease, Gentlemen," the staff officer said, lifting one hand. "As far as I understood, you donated blood for Oberst Klink, so find some rest and do as the doctor says." He glanced at the POWs. "The same for you, Gentlemen. The Luftwaffe thanks you for your unusual support."
"We helped the Kommandant, not the damn Luftwaffe," one man in an American uniform growled and turned on his side, showing Burkhalter his back.
Well, at least this was the usual behavior for a POW – something the general could live with. Knowing where the waiting area was, he opened the door to his right and entered the small room. He wasn't surprised to find all of Hogan's gang here with Schultz, who instantly rose and saluted as he saw him.
"General Burkhalter," Hans sighed. "I'm glad that you're here."
"This is certainly the first time you feel like this," Burkhalter deadpanned. He acknowledged the other men's brisk salutes they were forced to give him by the universal military protocol, looked around, and stiffened.
Hogan sat on one of the chairs, head bowed and fingers clamped together in his lap. There was no sign that he had realized of Burkhalter's arrival or was aware of anything that was going on around him. The staff officer saw the dried blood on Hogan's shirt and trousers, on his hands, partly on the side of his face, and even on his neck – the latter looking like fingerprints. As if someone injured had clung to Hogan's neck. There was no doubt who this 'someone' had been – and the enormity of what happened caught Burkhalter with a sharp impact.
He didn't know all the details. To say the truth, he only knew superficially what had taken place approximately three hours ago in Klink's quarters. But it had been a matter of life and death. And, like almost always when something unusual happened, Hogan was a part of it.
Burkhalter watched Kinchloe bending over his CO and telling him something. And for the first time ever, the general became aware of the fact that he knew every name of the men within the colonel's inner circle, while he didn't even know most the names of the senior POWs in other camps.
Stalag 13 was his problem-child. A big thorn in his side. But, to say the truth, it was also the only POW camp in the entire Third Reich that functioned relatively smoothly. And somehow, along the way, he also had taken a strange kind of liking to the men inside of these wires. He was maybe more familiar with them than with his own staff. It should make him uneasy, but it didn't. Sometimes it even gave him a hue of security when he was here.
And maybe because of this realization, a sense of protectiveness woke in him as he became aware of the nervousness that seemed to hold most people within the camp in a cold grip. They needed understanding, not ignorance. And that went especially for the men in this room; independent of the nationality. Odd, a few days ago he had been filled with anger whenever he had seen them, and now this irritation faded away and made room for something close to sympathy.
Slowly, Burkhalter closed the distance to Hogan and looked down at him. Still, the American didn't react. Kinchloe gave the Wehrmacht staff officer an apologizing smile, and the general nodded. It was obvious that the usually so cocky colonel was suffering a kind of shock.
Shock because he had faced death again, or because Klink was undergoing a major operation? Maybe both, and this told him about the two men's relationship a lot.
"Colonel Hogan?" he asked quietly, and took a sharp breath as the younger man stiffened and finally lifted his head to glance at him. A bruise was blooming on his left cheek bone, his hair was tousled, and his uniform was dirty with dried blood. But what startled Burkhalter was the expression in Hogan's eyes. There was real fright in them, but also a scaring dullness, and it touched the elder man against his will.
'In another time if we weren't at war, I certainly would see a friend in him,' had been Hogan's words as he, Burkhalter, had asked him in early January why he took Klink back to the camp instead of making an attempt of escape.
'I WOULD see a friend in him – my ass.' Burkhalter thought, sighing. 'The two ARE friends – close friends, even. I would bet a whole month's salary on it. Not that our money is even worth the paper it's printed on by now.'
"Hogan?" He asked again, and the numbness vanished from the American's gaze while he came back to the present and rose quickly.
"General Burkhalter," he greeted, voice hoarse. "Sorry, sir, I didn't see you come in." He gave him an almost proper salute. Maybe to make-up for his slip, and Burkhalter sighed.
"At ease, Hogan," he said quietly, before he looked around. "How is the surgery going?"
"We haven't heard anything," Schultz answered softly.
"They have been operating on him for more than two hours now," LeBeau murmured unhappily. Sweet Lord, what was it with Hogan and his gang caring for Klink like this?
The German officer drove his attention back to the senior POW and observed him again. Hogan looked as if he had an unpleasant meeting with the garbage of a butchery. Pointing at a large spot of dried blood on the American's left shoulder, Burkhalter asked seriously, "Are you hurt, Hogan?"
Uncomprehending, Hogan frowned, glanced down on himself, swallowed, and made a fleeing gesture with one hand. "No, it…it comes mainly from Wi…Colonel Klink." He moistened his lips. "And some of them is from Hochstetter…Sergeant Schultz shot him in the upper arm."
Burkhalter's eyes widened for a moment again before turned towards the large Bavarian. "You shot Hochstetter?"
"As we finally broke down the entrance door to Oberst Klink's quarters, Colonel Hogan lay against the wall, and Hochstetter pointed a pistol at his head. There was no time to do anything else than fire. Colonel Hogan would be dead now, otherwise," Schultz explained quietly.
"You had to break down the door?" Burkhalter cocked his head. "Why wasn't it open?"
"Hochstetter used the installed bolt to trap the two colonels and himself in the building," Kinch explained. "Sergeant Schultz, Corporal Newkirk, and I were the first ones who reached the quarters, and the door was already locked."
"He took the two colonels hostage," Newkirk added, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "He threatened to kill them if Schultz would try to enforce entrance."
Burkhalter blinked with confusion. "So, do I get this right? Hochstetter took Colonel Hogan and Oberst Klink hostage, blackmailed Sergeant Schultz, shot Klink in the stomach, and then…"
"No, he first shot Klink, then the colonel entered the quarters, and Hochstetter trapped the two and himself," LeBeau corrected. "And then he tried to blackmail Schultz."
Confused, Burkhalter shook his head. "You entered the quarters after Hochstetter attacked Klink? So you weren't originally there when the assault took place?" he addressed Hogan. "Why did you go to Klink's quarters at all? If I calculate back the hours, it was around dinner time, so…"
"I opened the barracks door to get some fresh air," LeBeau twisted the truth a little bit. "And saw Hochstetter nearing Colonel Klink's quarters. I alerted mon colonel, he recognized Hochstetter, too, and ran outside to alarm the guards."
"Yes, I heard him shouting 'Alarm, Wachen zum Quartier des Kommandanten'," Schultz agreed. "I was already in my quarters, heard the shout and the rising turmoil, took my rifle and ran outside only to see Colonel Hogan and his men racing towards Klink's quarters. Then the shot rang out, Colonel Hogan reached the building, got inside, and as Newkirk, Kinchloe, and I finally arrived, the door had been locked, and Hochstetter threatened us with the two officers' lives."
"LeBeau had the idea to get access to the backdoor," Newkirk added. "And we went to the backside together with some guards and Corporal Langenscheidt, but the backdoor was also locked…and then we heard that a hand-to-hand combat was taking place inside."
"Corporal Kleiber finally smashed the window of the kitchen and crawled inside, opened the backdoor, and let Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau, the guards, and me inside," Langenscheidt raised to speak. "We reached the living room the moment Sergeant Schultz broke through the main door and shot Hochstetter."
Burkhalter looked from one to the next completely baffled. That the guards did everything to protect their superior officer was their duty, and that Hogan's gang did the same for their own CO was something the general could understand. But that the POWs and the guards worked hand in hand was something he had to stomach. And what he couldn't grasp was a further thing.
He glanced at the American colonel, who hadn't said anything until now. "You went into the quarters knowing that Hochstetter was there, armed and certainly would use the given chance to kill you?" He concluded correctly. "That was pure suicide."
"There was no time to waste," Hogan answered softly. "I heard the shot and Klink's outcry when I reached the building, so…" He swallowed. "The next thing I remember is being inside and having Hochstetter in my back. He waited for me beside the entrance in the anteroom – hidden in the shadows. The moment I was inside and had passed by, he shut the door and locked it while aiming at me. I knew I was trapped, but…" He shrugged one shoulder as if he didn't care what could have happened to him.
Burkhalter acknowledged the same, but didn't mention it. As it seemed, Hogan didn't hesitate to risk his life to come to Klink's rescue – again. He sighed inwardly. He would talk with Hogan later about this matter. Right now he had to learn what really happened here. "And then you attacked Hochstetter, somehow he overpowered you, but before he could kill you, Sergeant Schultz broke down the door and saved the day – together with your men. At least concerning you."
"Yes," Hogan affirmed.
Rubbing his face, the general walked to one of the chairs and sat down. The furniture creaked a little bit because of his weight. Sighing, he collected himself before he looked up again only to grimace. There was that sight again: POWs and Luftwaffe members standing side by side in harmony. It was better if Berlin never learned of this.
"What I don't get is how Hochstetter was able to enter the camp at all," he pondered. He glanced at the Sergeant of the Guards. "Who let him in? How was it possible that he walked over the compound without being recognized as an intruder? If Colonel Hogan and Corporal LeBeau acknowledged him, why not our guards? Most of them served for years here and…"
"He wore a Luftwaffe uniform," Schultz explained. "Better to say, still wearing it. I saw a steel helmet in the Kommandant's quarters that Hochstetter certainly wore."
"He did," LeBeau confirmed.
"Therefore, his face was not clear to see in the evening's darkness," the large Bavarian concluded.
"He wore…" Burkhalter interrupted himself. "How did he get in the possession of a Luftwaffe uniform? Have you ordered a stocktaking in the uniform store?"
Schultz gulped. "N-n-n-no. I…" He took a deep breath. He hadn't thought this far, but he had some experiences in finding excuses, and right now one sprang to his mind "I wanted everything to remain like it was until you arrived and could build your own opinion."
"Very cautious of you," the general grumbled. "Did you call the Gestapo at least?"
Schultz and Langenscheidt exchanged a glance with each other. No, they hadn't thought that far.
It was Hogan who came to their aid. "Schultz thought it better to leave the Gestapo out of it until you arrived, General. There's evidence that at least one person from HQ in Hammelburg is involved in the incident."
Burkhalter frowned deeply. "What do you mean, Hogan? Are you suspecting one of the SS- or Gestapo-men having a part in this insanity?"
"Lieutenant von Neuhaus was here only a little bit more than half an hour before the assault took place," Hogan answered, feeling a little bit more like himself after his mind was distracted with another problem – or riddle.
"And you suspect him of allying with Hochstetter?" The staff officer asked. "That is a strong accusation, Hogan, and…"
"Colonel Klink told me that Lieutenant Schmidt visited him a day after my rescue from Gestapo Headquarters and warned him urgently that von Neuhaus was speaking ill of Klink – making him responsible for his former superior's arrest."
"Von Neuhaus also threatened the Kommandant in person," Kinch cut in. "Newkirk, Carter, Wilson, and I heard it."
The general stared at him "When did you hear something like this?"
"After Colonel Hogan's rescue while he was medically treated in the Kommandant's bedroom. Von Neuhaus disregarded Colonel Klink's order to stay away from his quarters, entered without permission, and as Klink gave him a piece of his mind, von Neuhaus threatened him."
"He threatened him?" Burkhalter blinked. This story became more and more complicated.
"He didn't accept Colonel Klink's authority over the camp," Carter nodded. "He said he wouldn't take orders from 'a simple Oberst', and after Klink gave him fifteen minutes to leave the camp together with his men, he threatened that this would have consequences."
"Even more," Newkirk spoke up. "He promised that Klink 'would pay for this'. And this is a cite, General."
"And you should have seen the loathe and anger on his face," Kinchloe nodded. "For a moment, we really thought he would attack Klink. Newkirk and I even got ready to intervene should von Neuhaus lose control."
Burkhalter had listened closely and shook his head slowly, rendered speechless for once.
"I wasn't awake when Schmidt visited Colonel Klink," Hogan continued quietly. "But the Kommandant told me that Schmidt also warned him of Hochstetter, who had vowed revenge shortly before he was taken to your car as you took him with you to Berlin."
"You should have heard his threats and vows of revenge after the trial," Schultz murmured. "Hochstetter always was a little bit crazy, but in those moments, he displayed true insanity fed by burning hate."
"Yes, I remember it, too," the general murmured before he turned his attention back to Hogan. "So, you think Hochstetter got into contact with von Neuhaus after his escape, von Neuhaus smuggled him into Stalag 13 by using an excuse for his visit, and Hochstetter hid somewhere while von Neuhaus left again?" Burkhalter began to recognize the many tiny puzzle parts that were about to build a picture. A very ugly picture that made unease crawl beneath his skin. Was everything in Germany spiraling downwards this much that even officers of different corps used their position to take revenge on their rivals, trying to kill them and allying with criminals to do so?
The mere thought made him sick. As if the pressure from the different fronts weren't enough to weigh down the Reich's defenses, now it weakened itself inwardly because men mangled each other. 'Just give us a few months more, and the Allies don't have to move a single finger anymore to gain victory over us. We're losing the war all by ourselves,' he thought bitterly.
"Something like that," Hogan agreed with Burkhalter's conclusion. "It makes sense. Von Neuhaus gets his revenge without getting his hands dirty and also has a plain alibi, because he certainly returned directly to the Headquarters and was there when the assault happened. Schmidt told Colonel Klink that von Neuhaus was very loyal to Hochstetter. If he wanted to avenge him, he got the chance as his former superior contacted him."
Burkhalter took a deep breath, feeling nauseous. "From this point of view, I have to agree, Hogan, but do we have any proof?"
"Everything has remained like it was as the assault took place," the colonel stated. "Thanks to Schultz's consideration. Give order to search the uniform store. If a complete uniform in Hochstetter's size is missing, he got it from here – means he also hid here before he assaulted Klink. And he must have gotten rid of the stolen SS-uniform somewhere. If those uniforms are found, we know at least what happened after he intruded the camp," he suggested.
"A stolen SS-uniform?" Burkhalter asked. This all got more and more bizarre.
"Klink received a call from Schmidt before von Neuhaus arrived," Hogan explained. "Schmidt got an official warning from Munich that Hochstetter escaped during some chaos in the camp he was sentenced to, killed a sergeant, and took his identity. It would be logical that Hochstetter also switched clothes with his victim. Like this, he wasn't recognized by the guards as he fled – masked as one of them."
Observing the American officer warily for a long moment, Burkhalter nodded finally. "You're right, and you suggest a logical step," he said quietly. "Corporal Langenscheidt, take a few men and search for a uniform of the Totenkopf-SS near the uniform store and in it. Also, count our uniforms." He hesitated a moment. "And when you're already in the store, get a clean, neutral shirt for Colonel Hogan. He can't walk around like this." He gestured to the senior POW.
"Jawohl, Herr General." Langenscheidt saluted, and left the room.
"I know that you have your dress uniform here, Hogan. Maybe one of your men can bring it to you so that you can change."
Before Hogan could protest, LeBeau raced towards the door, full of relief. All the blood, even if it was drying, did terrible things to his stomach. "I'm on my way."
"There's really no need…" the colonel began, but as he caught Burkhalter's sharp glare, he shut up for once.
"Yes, you need to change. You look like a butcher hit you with a bucket of blood." He rose and closed the distance to the younger man, observing his throat. "You have scratches on your throat. Certainly from your fight with Hochstetter. Are you hurt elsewhere?"
Hogan shrugged. "Some bruises, nothing serious," he replied, ignoring his paining back.
"Good. Knowing that not even ten horses will be able to pull you away from the infirmary before the surgery has ended, use the washroom next door. I'll go to the cooler and speak with Hochstetter. Maybe…"
A door was opened from the inside of the building, and the men heard Hauser's quiet, "How did it go?"
Before Burkhalter could even turn around, Hogan was already at the door and stepped into the main room of the infirmary, his team and Schultz following him instantly, more or less pushing the general out of the way. The staff officer grimaced and couldn't prevent from asking, "Have the gentlemen ever heard that they had to give the higher ranking officer the advantage?" He didn't expect an answer and he, indeed, got none. Shaking his head, he left the waiting area and glanced at a tired surgeon, who was surrounded by Hogan, his men, and Schultz. The German guards on the beds, and even the POWs that had donated blood, sat up and looked expectantly at the doctor, whose white scrubs were dirty with blood.
Hogan stopped in front of the surgeon, nauseated with tension. The next minute would reveal if Will was still alive, or if he, Robert Hogan, had lost the love of his life.
TBC…
Yes, finally the Heroes admitted that they know about their beloved superior and Klink – even if certainly everyone of them had hoped for a more funny and casual chance to tell Hogan that they know everything.
And, yes, Burkhalter comes down onto the carpet so to say, because all of sudden the 'front' is so closing up on him – not because of the trouble he faced in Nürnberg, but because he realizes for once that the Grim Reaper lurks everywhere and can get everyone, even within the secured area of a POW-camp.
In the next chapter you'll learn how the surgery went. Furthermore Burkhalter confronts Hochstetter and realizes that maybe another member of the Gestapo/SS in Hammelburg is responsible for the brutal assault within Stalag 13. But to find out the truth he need someone, who is a genius when it comes to scheming and secret plans. And so the general and our colonel have no other choice than to team up to get the second man, who is behind the terrible mess within the camp.
Like always – you know – I'm curious of your reactions, and I hope that you liked the new chapter despite its more darker topics, but also sweet moments of the Heroes. I really would appreciate it to get some feedback / reviews – you know, they are the author's bread.
Until the weekend,
Love
Yours Starflight
