Hi, my dear readers,
I know that the last chapter kept you once again on the edge of your seat. And the big parts of the whole 'pay-back? is coming now, beginning with the next chapter.
Like already told, von Neuhaus has some tricks up his sleeve to safe his neck and to give Schmidt trouble, the only question is: How good is he in playing dirty games?
I hope you have fun with this chapter.
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 66 – Justice, part 1
Von Neuhaus sat in Schmidt's office. The guards had taken off his handcuffs, but flanked the office; MPs pointing to the floor, but ready to be used instantly if it became necessary. Schmidt sat behind his desk, while Burkhalter and Schultz occupied two visitor chairs.
Burkhalter held the telegram from Munich in his hands and offered it back to Schmidt after reading it before he turned towards the Leutnant.
"Did you know about this telegram?"
Von Neuhaus took a deep breath, while his intelligent mind was scheming a plot to get his neck out of the noose. "Yes, I saw it laying on the desk as I went to Oberleutnant Schmidt's office to inform him about my planned travel to Stalag 13. But he wasn't there anymore, and I learned that he had left Headquarters. Therefore, I couldn't ask for his 'permission' to try something different concerning the current case." He shot a nasty glance at his superior. "It's really interesting that the Herr Oberleutnant leaves HQ in the late afternoon instead of trying to solve the riddles of last weekend's disaster."
Schmidt stiffened. "I don't think that my private life is of any concern to you."
"If it messes with duty, it is of my concern – after all, I made an officer's oath," von Neuhaus said snidely. "It were my men who secured the radio transmitter. Our Headquarters was responsible for the mission's safety, and there are still many questions unanswered. And you prefer a nice evening with your sweetheart instead of doing your duty."
"How did you know that Oberleutnant Schmidt visited Fräulein Schneider? I don't think he checked out with you," Burkhalter demanded.
Von Neuhaus' left corner of his mouth curled in an ugly parody of a smile. "That the Oberleutnant visits the young lady almost every evening is very well known within HQ by now. And Oberleutnant Schmidt told you during my arrest that he went to the Schneiders this evening, Herr General." He leaned back on his chair. "And concerning Hochstetter: I learned of his escape because of the telegram you left on our desk – open for anybody to read. Despite the approaching danger, you did nothing except call Oberst Klink. That this man is far too lazy when it comes to risks had been seen in January as he ran back into a shower of bullets for a damn POW, or…"
"Oberst Klink is one of my best camp Kommandanten," Burkhalter cut in sharply, feeling for once protective of 'his' Saxonian nag. "Stalag 13 is the only camp in Germany that has no successful escapes, no attempted rebellions, and no death cases. I admit that his leading style is…unique, but the success proves his abilities. To ascribe him as lazy is an impertinence. That a madman would intrude the camp and try to murder him is something no one could assume because Stalag 13 IS safe – except someone sabotages this safety by smuggling an insane murderer behind its wires."
Von Neuhaus stared at him. "Why do you think I smuggled Hochstetter into Stalag 13? Because I was there shortly before he tried to kill Klink? He could have been there for hours, waiting for the best chance to go through with his revenge, you know."
"Hochstetter can't fly, yet he only escaped M1 yesterday evening. That he reached Hammelburg within the short range of time until this evening is unusual enough given the horrible state of our infrastructure by now. To think that he already reached this area during midday is crazy. He had to…"
"And yet, I think he managed exactly that…and got help afterwards," another voice from the door said. SS-Sergeant Fuhrmann saluted and closed the distance to the desk, eyes firmly directed on his superior. "Herr Oberleutnant, I took the liberty to speak with the men in our telephone exchange, thinking that somehow the former major must have contacted someone here before said someone could smuggle him into Stalag 13." He gave von Neuhaus a grim glare before he offered Schmidt a piece of paper. "Around nine o'clock a priority-one call from Nürnberg was put through to Leutnant von Neuhaus. A General von Stetten wanted to speak with him – only him. I asked Hoffmann who was in charge of the exchange station this morning. He thought the voice sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Especially because the general spoke very hoarsely."
Schmidt took the daily telephone protocol, pressed his lips into a thin line, read through it, and finally looked up at Burkhalter. "Do you know a general who goes by this name?"
"Not in the Wehrmacht, independent of the unit," Albert answered, watching von Neuhaus.
"What about the Waffen or Totenkopf-SS?" Schmidt mused. "I have to ch…"
"Sir, I took another liberty and already called the SS-Main HQ in Munich. A General von Stetten doesn't exist in the SS," Fuhrmann cut in. "And another thing is of high interest. Afterwards, Leutnant von Neuhaus demanded to be linked to the registration office for the Volkssturm in Hammelburg before he left HQ for several hours without reporting the reason for it." He stared darkly at the Leutnant.
"The registration office of…" Burkhalter's surprised question was interrupted, as Schmidt pulled out the letter that had been sent to Hilda and held it out furiously in front of von Neuhaus' face.
"So, this here is your doing, too? A registration order by force? Despite the fact that Fräulein Schneider works for the Luftwaffe and is a foster mother?"
Burkhalter's and Schultz's eyes widened, while von Neuhaus drawled. "Why should I try to get Fräulein Schneider enforced into the Volkssturm? It's more than dangerous, and I really don't wish the young lady any harm despite the fact that she was naïve enough to choose you instead of me."
Burkhalter grimaced. Again, Hogan had been right: von Neuhaus was jealous of Schmidt not only because the young man got the higher ranking job, but also the girl.
"The reason for this letter is easy to detect," Schmidt snarled. "You wanted me out of HQ this evening so that you could go through with your plan to smuggle Hochstetter into Stalag 13, using the seized radio transmitter of the Underground as an excuse."
"This is an insinuation you have no proof of," von Neuhaus replied with an irritated undertone in his voice.
"And yet, your behavior at Stalag 13 fits perfectly to these assumptions," Schultz rose to speak, feeling unusual courage because of the whole messy situation and of the still lasting scary prospect of losing someone he had come to regard as someone in his charge. "I thought it odd that the Leutnant parked his car beside the Kommandantur with the trunk towards the wire. Everyone else, including him until this evening, parks in front of it and turns the car afterwards to leave the camp. But the Leutnant drove backwards near the wall of the building. If Hochstetter had been in the trunk, it was easy for him to slip out unseen because of the shadows there."
"You should watch the guards instead of playing police," von Neuhaus sneered, but for once, Schultz didn't back down.
"I do know my duties, von Neuhaus! They are not only laying in leading the guards, but also in Oberst Klink's safety. Cowardly, Hochstetter assaulted him in his own quarters – during dinner no less – and shot him in the stomach. If it wouldn't have been for Colonel Hogan, who risked his own life for the Kommandant, Oberst Klink would be dead now! And he may still die because of his serious injuries. All evidence speaks of you being the one who made it possible that Hochstetter intruded our camp in the first place…and I really have the big wish to give you a fitting payback for what you did to my CO and friend!"
"'Friend'," the Leutnant snorted. "There are no friends in…"
"WRONG!" the large Bavarian thundered. "That's the difference between the SS and the Wehrmacht. We are soldiers. Comradeship is of the essence that makes us surpass ourselves. To keep a comrade out of harm's way and to never let him down. This can bloom into friendship – something you obviously are not able to grasp, but what kept us elders alive!" He glanced shortly at Schmidt. "Sorry, Herr Oberleutnant, I'm sure that there are a few exceptions within the SS, too, but…." He threw up his hands in anger before he glared back at von Neuhaus, his face was flushed with fury. "Oberst Klink may have his mistakes, but he is a fine man! I gave Hochstetter a piece of my mind after he wounded my friend and CO…and if you are in cahoots with this damn bastard, you can call yourself lucky that we two are not alone in this room!"
"You threaten me? You, a simple sergeant?" von Neuhaus asked indignantly.
"A simple sergeant who isn't even in a bathrobe like a certain Oberst you threatened first," Schultz snarled. "And believe me, this 'simple sergeant' can tramp you into the floor!"
Burkhalter lifted a hand. "Schultz, we get your point. And even if you have my full understanding in this case, this here leads to nothing." He took the letter from Schmidt and anger spread over his features while he read it. "You drove to the Schneiders this evening, like you told me. Is this the reason for it?" he addressed Horst, who nodded.
"Yes. Hilda called me in despair in the late afternoon after she came home from duty. I wanted to check if the letter is real or a bad joke, but it seemed to be true."
"The paper and the sender, yes, but not the content. Women are not recruited by force." The general looked at von Neuhaus. "Let me guess, this Sturmbandführer Klausner, who signed the letter, is a friend of yours and did you a little 'favor'." He folded the letter and put it into the chest pocket of his jacket while glancing back at Schmidt. "I'll take care of this tiny problem, Herr Oberleutnant. Do not worry."
"Thank you, Herr General," Schmidt replied with relief. At least as much relief he could feel in the current situation. "I already thought about contacting you tomorrow concerning this nasty joke."
Burkhalter nodded. "You can call me any time, young man." Then he glared at von Neuhaus. "You're in deep water, Herr Leutnant. If we find watertight proof of your involvement with…"
A knock at the door came, and another SS-man stepped in. Saluting, he quickly went towards the desk. "Herr General, Herr Oberleutnant, we examined the Walther PPK General Burkhalter gave you. It belongs to our equipment. I checked the last counting report of the stocked guns in the weapon chambers four days ago. It says that not only two Walther PPKs were missing, a rifle and a MP, too." He offered his superior a sheet of paper.
"This… can't be," Schmidt said, knowing fully well what this would mean for him.
"You're correct, sir," the man nodded. "We recounted the weapons. All are there except for the Walther PPK General Burkhalter brought back to us."
Fuhrmann had taken the list into his hands, too. "These notes have been made after I signed it," he said, pointing at his signature. "There was no gun missing after the counting. I read through the whole list and would have reported something to you instantly."
Burkhalter gestured to the sergeant to give him the list and took a look himself. "The entries were adjusted afterwards?"
"Definitely," Fuhrmann nodded. "I'm no expert in analyzing handwritings, but there are little differences in the way the numbers were written. Please look at the numbers which point out differences between the calculated and actual counting, Gentlemen."
Burkhalter and Schmidt examined the list carefully, and Albert nodded finally. "The numbers were altered. This entry is a fabrication."
"If you want, Herr General, we can check the list for fingerprints," the SS-man offered. "Those of every serving man within HQ are registered. We would need yours."
"No problem," Burkhalter agreed.
"This document was never produced to Leutnant von Neuhaus, but was filed after I signed it," Fuhrmann added. "If the Leutnant took it to make a faked entry, his fingerprints have to be there…except he wore gloves."
"Sergeant Fuhrmann is right. I never saw this list before…after it was written, nor later," the Leutnant spoke up, and glanced at the other SS-man. "What about the Walther PPK? Any fingerprints?"
Schmidt opened his mouth to tell von Neuhaus that he had no right to ask questions at all, but the guard was quicker. "The former Major Hochstetter's fingerprints are on the gun as well as on the rifle that was found in the Leutnant's trunk." He looked at Burkhalter. "We called M1, and the camp's Kommandant in person checked the gun number of the rifle with the one that was registered for the late Sergeant Vogel. The rifle belonged to him."
"And Hochstetter left the weapon in your trunk because a pistol comes more in handy for an assault within short distance," Burkhalter concluded, eyes narrowing at von Neuhaus. "Your absence after this ominous call was because you picked Hochstetter up from the place he called you from in Nürnberg. You brought him to Hammelburg, hid him until the evening, made certain that Oberleutnant Schmidt wasn't here to ask unpleasant questions the moment you drove away again – taking seized evidence with you – took Hochstetter to Stalag 13 by using a lame excuse for your visit, and returned to HQ to wait for the camp's call that would tell of Hochstetter's successful revenge."
"A very clever plan you just thought about," von Neuhaus sneered. "It could have been like this…if I'm crazy enough to support a sentenced man. But a) Hochstetter could have managed to get to Hammelburg all by himself. He knows the area very well and he was, like you said, in SS-uniform, which opens him every door, so to say. B) He could have gotten a hold of the weapon by intruding HQ in secret. He knows the building in and out, and regrettably, certain people always forget to close their windows despite protocol." He glared at Schmidt. "And C), he…"
"What are you implying?" Horst asked, with a low growl in his voice, getting the bad feeling that von Neuhaus wanted to turn the table and put the blame on him.
"Easy," the Leutnant shrugged. "He could have crept through HQ to the weapon chamber that is beside the evidence chamber. He saw me getting the transmitter radio, got the idea to use my investigation to his advantage, hid in my trunk, and entered Stalag 13."
Burkhalter stared at him. "And how should he know where you're off to? You took something from the evidence chamber. This could be for any other reason to…"
"I have to admit that I have the stupid habit of talking to myself when I prepare for a hearing," the Leutnant said smoothly. "He could have learned where I wanted to go. Now, as we're speaking of it, I'm almost certain I heard something from the next room when I was in the evidence chamber, but I didn't get wary. This building is full of people." He frowned and cocked his head. "I also think I heard the door to your chamber closing as I walked down the hallway to get my coat before I went to my car. And this was, as far I remember, after you drove away to Fräulein Schneider."
"The door to my room?" Schmidt asked, flabbergasted.
"Yes," von Neuhaus nodded. "Have you kept your window open when you drove away to Fräulein Schneider? I recognized this habit of you several times when you stepped out of your quarters."
Horst flushed in thunderstruck fury. "This is absolute nonsense, and you know it! Of course, I close my window when I'm not in my room. Protocol! And, by the way, who wants to sleep in a freezer?"
"Shall we check it?" von Neuhaus asked, almost kindly.
"You want to put the blame onto me and…"
"I'll check it," Fuhrmann offered, glaring daggers at von Neuhaus. "I don't think that you're this lazy, Herr Oberleutnant, and that von Neuhaus only bluffs, but…"
"Please, do it," Schmidt nodded, trusting the older man. With a nod, the sergeant went to the door, and Schultz rose, too.
"Herr General, I will go with him. This is not only a matter of the SS, but also of the Luftwaffe – and four eyes see more than two." He nodded kindly at Fuhrmann, who wasn't offended because of the other sergeant's offer. As it seemed, the large Bavarian had the same regard concerning his duty and CO like he did.
The two older men left the room, while Schmidt glanced back at von Neuhaus, who looked far too smug. 'This is a trap,' he thought, gritting his teeth. 'This damn bastard has an ace up his sleeve to pass the buck to me. I feel it in my bones.'
Two minutes later, quick steps drew nearer before someone knocked loudly at the door, opening it even before Schmidt could call 'enter'. A guard stepped in out of breath. "Herr Oberleutnant, Sergeant Fuhrmann sends me. He asks you and General Burkhalter to come to your quarters."
Schmidt had a sinking feeling in his stomach while he rose. Burkhalter followed his example and headed for the door.
"Guards, secure Leutnant von Neuhaus and bring him with us," Schmidt ordered.
Almost nonchalant, von Neuhaus followed the two guards, giving no resistance or other trouble. There was a tiny chance that he would get out of this as a free man, and he didn't want to forfeit this chance.
A minute later, they reached Schmidt's quarters where the lights were switched on, and the door was wide open through which icy air streamed. Fuhrmann and Schultz looked half frustrated, half sad at Schmidt, who stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the open window.
Burkhalter stopped too, looked at the younger man with a critical glance, and entered the room. It was obvious that the window was open for hours now. It was chilly, icy cold, and damp.
"There is more," Schultz said quietly and stepped aside, pointing on the floor.
Burkhalter closed the distance to him exactly like Schmidt, who knelt down as he saw the dirt and foot prints which came from the window and lead towards the door.
"Footprints of common SS-boots," he murmured. "Look at the the soles' pattern. Almost everyone in the SS wears them."
"What about the size?" Burkhalter asked. "Hochstetter is a rather small man. His feet have to be likewise small."
"Well, as it seems, the Oberleutnant's flippancy demanded a price," von Neuhaus sneered. "First guns are missing and no one investigates it, and now…"
"The list's entries are a fake!" Fuhrmann barked. "And I'm sure I'll find your fingerprints on the paper, Herr Leutnant!" He almost spat the title.
"You don't have to be this angry, Sergeant. I know that you lick Herr Oberleutnant's boots, but…"
"Sir, we have something for you!"
Another guard stepped into the room, shivered, and offered Schmidt another sheet of paper. Visible made fingerprints were on it.
"What is this?" He asked, and the man began to grin.
"The former Major Hochstetter's fingerprints." The guard's grin broadened for a moment before he looked with anger at von Neuhaus. "They were found around the passenger seat of Herr Leutnant's car. We also found bread crumbs in the footwell of the passenger seat and sandwich paper in the glove box. We examined it, too. You have three guesses what we found."
"Hochstetter's fingerprints," Burkhalter mused.
"Yes, and his," the man said, nodding at von Neuhaus. "They were also on the sandwich paper. Hochstetter must have gotten the food from him."
For a moment, utter silence spread through the room as the outcome of these investigations became clear to everyone…including von Neuhaus. He stood still for a few seconds, then he whirled around, shoved one of the guards aside, took the man's pistol, and raced out of the room, banging the door closed.
"AFTER HIM!" Burkhalter shouted, furious like rarely before.
Fuhrmann and Schultz were already tearing the door open, almost stumbling over each other in their hasty attempt to get the traitor first. Schmidt passed them by, Burkhalter and the other guards on his heels.
"STOP THE LEUTNANT!" Schmidt screamed at the top of his lungs, alerting the guards on the ground and first level within the building.
Von Neuhaus headed for the main door, shoved another guard out of his way, and raced down the hallway.
Horst didn't slow down, even if he knew the men at the entrance would do their job properly. Von Neuhaus had teamed up with Hochstetter to get his own revenge, but also to pay Klink back for the Oberst's way of handling him. Only because of von Neuhaus' support, Hochstetter had been able to almost kill Klink. He maybe even had succeeded.
Schmidt was more than furious, ready to give the traitor a payback of his own.
Two guards stepped into the Leutnant's way, one lifted a hand to stop him. Von Neuhaus didn't hesitate a moment as he ruthlessly rose his gun and pulled the trigger. The man sank with a yell to the floor, while his comrade threw himself down for cover, fingering for his own weapon.
Von Neuhaus knew that he was lost. He wouldn't make it out of the building…but he wouldn't go alone. Whirling around, he lifted the pistol, aiming at Schmidt.
Horst saw the muzzle of the gun being lifted towards his chest, and fear clenched his whole being while he came with sliding steps to a halt. The next second, a large hand pushed him hard into the back and out of the way. While stumbling to his knees, he recognized Burkhalter's polished boots at his side.
A second shot rang out followed by an outcry form von Neuhaus. The Leutnant was hurled backwards and fell down to the floor like a ragged doll. Arms spread, one knee bent, pistol still in hand. His eyes were wide open; his gaze was broken. A red point was in the middle of his forehead from where blood began to ran.
He was dead. The bullet had killed him instantly.
Burkhalter took a deep breath and let his pistol sink, anger and satisfaction swirled through him. "That was for Klink, you rat," he whispered.
Schmidt regained his feet, body filled with adrenaline, heart in his throat, mouth dry. "You…you saved my life," he said quietly to Burkhalter and spared the dead Leutnant only a short glance before he turned towards the general. "Thank you," he said, with deep sincerity.
"You're welcome," Albert answered tightly, still far too stirred up to calm down.
Several guards took care of their wounded comrade, who had gotten a shot into the right shoulder. One man ran down the hallway to call an ambulance. Others bent down and pulled the pistol away from the Leutnant's numb fingers, quickly examining the dead body.
Something peaked out of von Neuhaus' coat pocket, and Fuhrmann saw it instantly. Bypassing his CO, and clapping him on the shoulder, he closed the distance to the little group and pulled the white material out of the Leutnant's pocket. His eyes widened before he turned around.
"Herr Oberleutnant, have a look at this," Fuhrmann called, lifting the white material. Schmidt, Burkhalter, and Schultz walked to him, and Horst took the item carefully in his hand.
"A handkerchief," he murmured. "A dirty one."
Fuhrmann nodded with a grim smile. "Soil from outside…just like the dirt we found in your quarters." He bent down and lifted the dead Leutnant's left leg, examining his boot. "I knew it!" He hissed, turning the foot so that the two officers and Schultz could see what he meant.
There, between the profile of the boot's sole, was dirt. Better to say, soil. And the sides of the boots were freshly cleaned. "I'm certain that an analysis will show that this is the same soil we found in Oberleutnant Schmidt's quarters and the footprints there fit to these soles," Fuhrmann said. "I'll send out some men to check the garden and the snow. Von Neuhaus somehow had to get the soil. After all, Hammelburg is completely covered in snow, but you can scratch it away near the houses. I'll bet my last shirt that he left the tracks outside and inside of our HQ; made it looking as if someone crept through the garden to your window and entered the building like this."
Schmidt nodded slowly and turned towards a corporal. "Take two men and go outside to the backside of Headquarters. Look for any tracks which have been left there. I'm sure that if there are any footprints that they belong to von Neuhaus; not to Hochstetter. Their shoe size is different."
The man saluted, waved to guards, and jogged towards the entrance.
Looking down onto the handkerchief in his hands, he shook his head in complete shock. "Sweet Lord, he did everything to put the blame on me…to create the impression I'm guilty and that Hochstetter was able to go so far."
Burkhalter saw the disbelief on the young man's face and grumbled, "He hated you from the beginning. You and he were the straight opposite concerning your conception of duty and how to handle tasks. And you got the job…and Fräulein Schneider." He laid a hand on Schmidt's shoulder. "This is the price we have to pay as soon as we climb up the career ladder. There will always be those who envy us or the respect others give us. And they will try to bring us to fall. To see through those intern enemies, to be careful and to give them not a chance to outdo us, is a never ending challenge."
Schmidt gave him a half smile, knowing that the older man not only shared some advice, but also wanted to comfort him in a certain way. And he was grateful for the understanding the general displayed. His glance found Schultz, who also gave him a warm half-smile before his expression turned sad again. Horst knew that the large Bavarian was deeply worried for Klink. Then he glanced at Fuhrmann.
"Thank you for keeping your faith in me," he said softly, and his confidant smiled at him.
"Any time, son," he answered with an uncommon informality that was born out of true loyalty and fatherly affection.
Schmidt squeezed his shoulder before he watched how the guards carried von Neuhaus' dead body away. The Leutnant's family would be informed and, eventually, he would be committed to his home.
That brought Schmidt to another track of thoughts. "Concerning the whole case, I have to examine the crime scene in Oberst Klink's quarters before I can write a full report." He took a deep breath. "And regarding Hochstetter, I'll come over tomorrow to take him into our custody to…"
"There is no need for it," Burkhalter interrupted him. "Given the fact that he murdered Sergeant Vogel, attempted to murder Oberst Klink and Colonel Hogan, including the crime that he endangered a POW camp, I pulled rank and sentenced him to death." He looked straight at Schmidt. "The firing squad will happen tomorrow…" He glanced at his wrist watch, "…better to say today at ten o'clock." He straightened his shape. "Because Hochstetter once belonged to the SS, I'll inform Heinrich about everything, telling him that your report will be sent to Munich. I'll also clear everything concerning Fräulein Hilda, and you should teach this guy in the registration office that his position and our Volkssturm are not to abuse for personal favors."
"You can be sure that he'll be in a hell of trouble," Schmidt growled. He took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, given the whole mess, please accept my offer to invite you to my office and to share some cognac with you." He glanced at the two sergeants. "Including you two, gentlemen. Thank you for your help."
Burkhalter gave him a short smile. "One cognac cannot hurt…and we all could use one. But afterwards, I have to return to the camp. There is still a lot to do."
*** HH *** HH ***
It was almost half past three o'clock in the morning when Burkhalter and Schultz finally returned. The guards had driven back shortly after their task was fulfilled, but the general and sergeant had stayed longer at Schmidt's office than intended. Last but not least, because witness reports were made and signed.
It was quiet in Stalag 13; only the night shift guards were up. Everyone else was deep asleep except for a small light that was switched on in the infirmary. In mutual understanding, both men went to the sickbay, hoping that Klink was still among them.
Entering the infirmary, Dr. Birkhorn startled off from the chair he occupied and headed towards them – pale, exhausted, but still dutifully awake.
"How is he?" Burkhalter whispered, while Schultz crossed his fingers.
"No changes," the surgeon answered. "His pulse and heart beat are steady, which is a good sign, but otherwise he is dead to the world."
The general nodded slowly, walked on silent feet to the folded screen, and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened while he looked thunderstruck at the view that was presented to him.
Klink lay in his sickbed, still hooked up to an IV, ashen grey and obviously unconscious. And beside him in the next bed was no one else but Colonel Robert E. Hogan. The American lay on his side facing his German counterpart – one hand beneath his face, legs pulled up, his expression tensed even in sleep. Someone had spread a blanket over him, but the shoes in front of the bed and the leather jacket that hung over the visitor chair nearby showed that Hogan had prepared for bed before he laid down.
"Dear Lord," Schultz said gently, a warm smile spread over his round face. "Isn't that sweet?"
Burkhalter grimaced sourly, clasping his hands onto his back. "Very," he gritted out. "Especially given the fact that I ordered Hogan to go to bed."
"Factually, he did exactly that, Herr General," Dr. Birkhorn murmured and received a glare in return.
"I meant he should go into his bed."
"Ah, Herr General. The poor colonel is so worried. It can't harm anyone if he stays here," Schultz defended the American.
"An order is an order, Schultz," Burkhalter murmured, frowning.
Dr. Birkhorn realized that Hogan was in trouble now and gestured the general to follow him. He led the staff officer near the entrance and said quietly, "Herr General, Colonel Hogan received some serious blows with a table leg the assassin used as a kind of club. He became aware of it after the adrenaline wore off, and I examined his back. Those bruises look nasty. Especially where the barely healed scars are. The beds here are more comfortable and softer than the stock beds within the Barracks, therefore I thought it better to keep him here."
Burkhalter stared at him, eyes small. "Is there anybody around within this camp who doesn't wrap him up into cotton wool as soon as he gets only a scratch?"
"Yes, in your cooler is such a someone," the surgeon deadpanned, earning an amused snort from Schultz for the comment, while the general even frowned more.
"This isn't funny," Burkhalter said still quiet, but firmly.
"No, it isn't. But Colonel Hogan has been through a lot within the last two months, and the Geneva Conventions are very clear concerning the POWs' health. Hogan got these minor, yet painful bruises while he fought for your Kommandant's life. He faced an armed madman all alone to save Oberst Klink. To allow him now a softer bed to find some sleep in despite his hurting back is something you certainly won't deny him."
For a long moment, both men only looked at each other, a battle of wills, then Burkhalter lowered his gaze. "From the medical point of view, you are right, Doctor. Yet we both know that these bruises come in very handy for Hogan, who already argued with me that he wanted to stay here after I ordered him back into his Barracks."
Birkhorn lifted both brows. "If you think I make a diagnosis in consideration with a patient's individual wishes, then…"
"No, Doctor, of course I don't suspect something like that. I'm even convinced that Hogan got some nasty bruises. A hand-to-hand combat, a fight of life and death, leaves such tracks. But I'm also convinced that Hogan exaggerated his afflictions enough to decoy you to let him stay here." He glanced back at the folded screen. "But this shouldn't trouble you. I'll have to speak with him later anyway."
Birkhorn crossed his arms in front of his chest and carefully changed the subject. "What about the assumed supporter of the former Major Hochstetter?"
"It was the man we suspected," Burkhalter answered. "We caught him red-handed as he tried to defect. He's dead."
Despite everything, the surgeon felt some discomfort. He was a doctor through and through, and to kill someone was always something that went against everything he had learned and been taught. "He tried to flee?"
"He was about to kill Oberleutnant Schmidt…I had no other choice but to shoot him. The boy would be dead now otherwise." Some of the tension began to leave Burkhalter as the fact that the whole danger was over caught up with him. He suppressed a yawn. "I apologize, Doctor. It was a turbulent and anything but pleasant day. A long day, to say the truth. I wish the gentlemen a good night. There isn't much time left for me to get some rest before I have to fulfill another unpleasant duty…even if the whole thing is absolutely deserved. Good night, Gentlemen."
He turned and left, while Schultz returned to his two troublemakers. Pulling the blanket over Hogan a little more, he glanced with affection down on the younger man, feeling thrown back in time as he still could have tucked in his youngest son. Then he walked to Klink, squeezing the Saxonian's hand.
"Don't give up, Wilhelm. Come back to us. We need you…especially this oversized churl beside you," he whispered before straightening his shape. Exchanging a kind greeting with Birkhorn, he left. Tired, sad, and still worried sick.
*** HH *** HH ***
"London just radioed us," Kinchloe said, while climbing into Barracks 2. The long time outside in the cold air yesterday evening had been bad for him, and he coughed heavily. LeBeau offered him tea, while Newkirk got Kinch's blanket to wrap it around him the moment James sat down at the long table. It was seven o'clock in the morning, and none of the men had slept well despite the late hour they finally had gone to bed. They were concerned for Klink, and therefore, for Hogan. The Heroes had gotten the last proof how much their friend loved his German counterpart and how deeply afraid he was for Klink. The worry, how hard it would hit Hogan if Klink wouldn't make it, kept them tensed and nervous.
"What did they say?" Carter asked.
"General Butler isn't in London any longer. He took command over a division that's now at the southwest border of Germany, but his substitute agreed to send over some penicillin and painkillers. Another attack is planned for tonight, and one of the aircrafts of the squadrons will make a little detour over Stalag 13 to deliver the air parcel. We should be ready between eleven and twelve o'clock this evening."
"Great. Another night that's far too short," Newkirk groaned, suppressing a yawn.
A noise from the door woke their attention, and a moment later, Langenscheidt stepped in. "Morning," he said quietly to no one in particular. "Please, rise for an enumeration. I have to check if everybody is here."
"No roll call?" Kinch asked, and coughed again.
Langenscheidt shook his head. "No, this morning we make it a little bit more… unbureaucratic."
A few whistles were to hear. "You Germans are doing something unbureaucratic? That's a new one," Newkirk teased him.
"It's come to that, huh," Carter nodded, with a grin.
Langenscheidt shot him a glare. "This uncommon way of enumeration lays in the fact that General Burkhalter and Sergeant Schultz came back to the camp around half past three in the morning, and both are still asleep. And it should remain like this for a little bit longer, or both are grumpier than they already are usually at early mornings."
The Heroes and the other occupants of Barracks 2 became instantly serious. "They came back that late?" Kinchloe asked. "How went their mission?"
"Colonel Hogan had been right with his assumptions," Langenscheidt said, knowing that he had to tell them what happened, or he wouldn't get a calm minute. "Von Neuhaus smuggled Hochstetter into the camp. The general caught him red-handed as he tried to flee from Hammelburg."
"Damn swine." Newkirk spat. "He should rot in hell."
"That traitorous bosche!" LeBeau hissed. "Because Colonel Klink told him off and protected mon colonel against this Nazi dog, the bastard helped Hochstetter almost kill Klink."
"They should send him to the same firing squad like Hochstetter. He and his beloved superior can be sent to the devil side by side," Carter nodded, face dark.
"Too late for that," Karl replied wryly. "Von Neuhaus is dead."
"Already?" Kinch wanted to know, surprised.
The corporal nodded. "As watertight proof was found for his involvement in Hochstetter's assault and for his attempt of passing all blame to Oberleutnant Schmidt, he tried to flee form the SS-Headquarters he had been brought to. Schultz told me about it before he went to bed. Von Neuhaus shot down a SS-guard and then aimed at Schmidt. General Burkhalter was quicker," he shrugged.
"Burkhalter shot von Neuhaus?" Kinchloe was flabbergasted.
"Yes, directly into the head. The general pushed Schmidt out of the way in the last second and pulled the trigger. Von Neuhaus was instantly killed."
"Obviously, he aims well," Kinchloe murmured.
"I didn't think him capable of such a quick act at all," Newkirk mused.
"Yes, he is easily underestimated because of his fatness, but he can be damn quick if he has to be," Langenscheidt nodded.
"At least some justice was done for once," LeBeau grumbled. "I don't shed one tear for von Neuhaus' demise."
"But for Hochstetter's in three hours?" Carter pulled his leg.
"Are you crazy, mon ami?" Louis asked, flipping him the bird.
Langenscheidt sighed. "So much for your information so that you don't die of curiosity. Now please, rise for the enumeration and…where is Colonel Hogan?" Some alert appeared on Karl's face as he saw the open door that led to the American's quarters, but neither hide nor hair of him was to see.
"Don't fret," Kinch said calmly. "He's still in the infirmary. He stayed there the whole night, you know."
The German guard sighed with a sad face. "Kommandant Klink being injured really hit him hard, didn't it?"
James nodded slowly. "Yes, they have become good friends. I only hope Klink makes it. Not only for his sake, but also for Colonel Hogan's.
*** HH ***
The moment Hilda entered the camp, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Most POWs were in their Barracks despite the warmer weather. The guards on the watch tower and at the gate greeted her quietly with grave expressions, and the other guards were quiet and avoided looking at her. She saw Burkhalter's car parked in front of the Kommandantur, and her assumption grew. Something must have happened…something serious.
Entering the building, she stripped off her coat before she knocked on the door to Klink's office. "Good morning, Herr Kommandant. Can you tell me what's the matter with everyo…" She stopped as she saw the abandoned desk. The piles of files and papers were in order just like Klink always left them before he finished his daily routine.
"Herr Oberst?" She called, hoping he was maybe in the little kitchen preparing some tea.
At that same moment, the door to the backroom opened, someone yawned loudly, and tapped outside. Someone with a very round figure, tousled hair, and sleepy expression while he smoothed out his striped pajamas. Said someone stopped within the movement the second he became aware of her presence and stared with wide eyes at her; promptly yelping.
Completely thunderstruck, Hilda recognized the man who just had come out of the backroom in his nightclothes. "General Burkhalter?" she asked, surprised. With amusement, she saw him flushing.
"Good morning, my dear. Sorry for…" He gestured towards himself before he quickly turned around and hurried back into the backroom. "Just wait a few minutes, I will make myself representable."
Hilda had to giggle despite her worry on what was going on here and the damn letter Horst had taken with him. "No problem, Herr General, take your time. I'll make us some tea in the meantime," she called.
"Thank you," came the muffled answer, as the staff officer obviously shrugged out of his pajama top.
Shaking her head, she went to the small kitchen asking herself why the staff officer slept here in the backroom instead of the guest room in Klink's quarters.
Five minutes later, Burkhalter appeared in the office, clad in uniform, hastily shaved, and with dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted, and Hilda, always someone who wanted to help, offered him some tea. His gaze found his wrist watch while he asked, "Do you know if a roll call has been made?"
The young woman frowned. "No, I came into the camp a few minutes ago. Roll call is before I start duty and…" She watched him taking the seat behind Klink's desk, and a very bad feeling awoke in her. "Herr General, what's going on here?"
Burkhalter looked up at her. "Has nobody told you…." He waved a hand, and the bad feeling in Hilda grew.
"The atmosphere in the camp is…odd, to say it carefully. Everyone is making a face like ten days of rain." She cocked her head. "Where is Oberst Klink? Has something happened to him?" With rising dread, she saw the general lowering his head, looking almost crestfallen. "Is this the reason why you are here?" she added in a quiet voice.
Burkhalter sighed. Obviously, no one had explained to the young woman what happened the evening prior. "Please have a seat," he said, rising halfway in politeness until she had sat down. Folding his hands on the desktop, just like Klink did, he sat down again and began softly. "Something bad happened yesterday evening. Something very bad. As you certainly knew, Hochstetter was sentenced to eight years in a working camp…"
In a calm, yet tensed voice, Burkhalter began to tell Hilda of the last several hours. Horrified, she listened while tears formed in her eyes.
Klink – gravely wounded. Because of an abdominal shot – because of Hochstetter. Her throat tightened while the first tear rolled down her cheek. She liked Klink. He was like an uncle to her by now. Someone who didn't follow the sick Nazi regards or displayed cruelness like so many other camp Kommandanten did. He was polite to everybody and even treated the POWs with simple human respect. A kind of understanding. He could be pompous, yes, but she knew him well enough to see the uncertain man beneath the mask he wore. She was well aware of the far too warm and big heart that ruled his mind and soul. And now this man she had first learned to respect and then to like, lay in the next building fighting for his life. It was unfair. It was cruel.
And Robert…
She knew all too well of the deep friendship that had bloomed more and more within the last few weeks between the two colonels. She simply knew that Robert had to be in mental pain because of Klink's condition, and her first impulse was to go to him to offer some comfort. But she couldn't. Not now. Burkhalter wasn't as tolerant as Klink was concerning the POWs or her friendship with Hogan that wasn't exactly a secret anymore. She would have to wait for a good opportunity before she could go to Robert and bolster him up. She would visit Klink, too. She had to see with her own eyes how he was doing, and…
A handkerchief appeared in front of her blurred sight, and as she looked up, her gaze found Burkhalter's face that was full of understanding.
"I know that this is hitting you hard, my dear. Klink is a fine man if he wants to be, and I'm aware that you two have a very good working relationship with each other. Usually I would offer you a day off, but seeing the big chaos Hochstetter's assault has left, I ask you to be on duty for a few hours at least."
"Of course, Herr General," she whispered; dapping her tears away with the handkerchief. "You can count on me. With Oberst Klink out of commission, outstanding administration, and many things more, you certainly have a lot to do. I'll support you as well as I can."
"Thank you," Burkhalter replied kindly. "There are a few things I first have to do before justice can take place. And one thing also concerns you." As he caught her asking glance, he pulled out the letter of the registration office. "I think you know this. Your young man gave it to me yesterday evening. It turned out that von Neuhaus was behind it. He contacted a friend in the registration office to send you this fake message, knowing you would phone Schmidt and that the Herr Oberleutnant would come to you as soon as possible. This was the moment von Neuhaus could leave HQ to smuggle Hochstetter into Stalag 13."
"Oh, mein Gott." Hilda gasped, eyes widening in horror.
Burkhalter shook his head with a gentle smile. "The whole thing wasn't your fault, my dear. Von Neuhaus had laid so many tracks and little traps to gain some own advantage of the whole assault, you'll get dizzy just thinking about it. This letter here was only one puzzle piece of many he used. He got what he deserved in the end…just like Hochstetter will get at ten o'clock."
Hilda lowered her head, feeling sick because of everything that had happened. Then the last part of the general's words reached her. "What is at ten o'clock?"
Burkhalter took a deep breath. "My rank and my position give me a lot of freedom on decision making. And given the fact that Hochstetter killed a man, endangered this camp's security, and tried to murder an Oberst of the Luftwaffe, I sentenced him to death. He'll be sent to a firing squad later this morning…at ten o'clock."
Hilda nodded slowly. "Understandable," she whispered.
Patting the young woman's hand softly, Burkhalter finally leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. "Get some fresh air, if you want. I have to make a few phone calls before I can send Hochstetter to his maker. And if you see Schultz or Langenscheidt, please send them in. I missed roll call, and I have to know if everything is in order."
She nodded again and rose. "Thank you, Herr General…for everything," she said quietly, still shaken.
"You're welcome," Burkhalter replied, and watched her go before he took the telephone receiver. First, he had to call his 'good friend' to tell him what happened after he had been torn away from the meeting yesterday. And then, a few other duties would follow.
TBC…
Well, of course the whole thing is a shock for Hilda. And not only for her. More or less the whole camp still suffers from some shock, including Burkhalter. At least, von Neuhaus got what he deserved and Schmidt is out of the woods for now.
But 'in' the woods will be Hogan soon, because his own interpretation of Burkhalter's order will lead to some trouble – after all, the general is still angry with him for the quarrel a few days ago.
In the next chapter, Hogan gets his chance to have a very personal and private chance of revenge concerning Hochstetter. And Hilda is going to learn something about her boss and Robert, what certainly is another kind of little shock for her…
I hope, you liked the chapter. Yes, it contained the death of von Neuhaus, but I think no-one cries a tear for him, and not always justice is brought by a trial. And, after all, Schmidt's life was on stake. And one thing is clear, too: Never underestimate General Albert Burkhalter…
Have a nice rest of the week,
Love
Yours Starflight
