Hi, my dear readers,

A little bit delayed, but at last I can update the next chapter. The last days before Christmas were stressful, despite my beginning holidays, and it was far more to do at home than thought (last but not least my Dad had a little accident by slipping on the stair case to the cellar, and therefore he and Mom needed some help for the last preparations for Christmas).

I hope you're going to like the next chapter likewise.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 70 – Convicted

The next morning Hogan was woken up by Hauser, who alerted him that roll call would be within the next ten minutes or so.

"Thanks," Hogan said, while sitting up. "You spared me a lot of trouble."

The young man smiled. "You're welcome, Colonel."

Robert looked to his left and saw a peacefully sleeping Will, whose reddened cheeks and sweat spoke of the fever that had seized him. "How is he?" Robert asked, while slipping into his shoes.

"He slept soundly through the rest of the night – at least I didn't wake up because of returning nightmares, or so. But I checked his temperature this morning. 38,9 °C (102.2 °F). It's a serious fever."

Hogan pressed his lips into a thin line before he rose and took his leather jacket. He would give Wilson the ampule with the penicillin after roll call and distract Dr. Glockner long enough that Joe could inject Klink with the medicine.

On silent feet, the colonel went to the door, Hauser following him. It was still dark outside and icy cold. Of course, Burkhalter made roll call to the usual early time, not at the later version like Will had done within the last few weeks.

His men had just stepped out into the compound, Schultz's voice sounding through the open door of Barracks 2 complaining of Carter being too slow.

Burkhalter came out of the Kommandantur with an expression like three days of rain, looking as tired and miserable as the others.

Hogan quickly bypassed him. "Good morning, General," he greeted casually.

"Morning, Hogan," Burkhalter murmured, suppressed a yawn, and stopped dead in his tracks; eyes wide. Looking into the direction the American colonel just came from, he groaned loudly as he realized that Hogan had been in the infirmary. Even before roll call. 'I give up,' he thought with amused frustration – or frustrated amusement. He wasn't sure what fitted better.

Robert lined up with his men, while Schultz began to count them, breathing in relief as he saw Hogan. "Is everything all right with the Kommandant?" he asked quietly.

"Nightmares," Robert whispered back. "Dr. Glockner called me over during the night."

The Sergeant of the Guards nodded. "I heard from Sergeant Kinchloe about it." He finished his counting and turned towards Burkhalter, saluting properly. "All prisoners are present, Herr General."

Crossing his hands on his back, what made his belly standing out even more, Burkhalter told the POWs about the 'great success' that some towns in Lower Silesia had been re-sized by the Wehrmacht – what earned him 'boos' and whistles – and dismissed the men afterwards. He watched how Hogan spoke with the medic, Wilson, and for a long moment, both men vanished in the crowd that went back to the Barracks, then the medic went towards the infirmary, and the general rose his voice.

"Hogan?"

Robert groaned inwardly. What now?! He turned around. "Yes, General?"

"I would appreciate it when you appear cleaned and shaved at the next roll call. You're the senior POW officer, and therefore an example for your men."

The American controlled his urge to grimace, saluted, and headed towards his Barracks. Will had nightmares and ran a fever, and Burkhalter thought about him making a morning toilette?

"He really has it in for you at the moment, doesn't he?" Baker asked him, and Robert sighed.

"His mood is not in the cellars. It's so deep down he could shake the devil's hand in his own realm," Hogan grumbled, with a grimace. "And I don't think it will get better during the day."

*** HH ***

Given the whole chaos within Germany, and especially concerning Burkhalter's personal 'failure', the atmosphere in the camp was tense.

Wilson had been able to inject Klink with the penicillin in secret and gave the more or less still asleep Oberst a painkiller. Hogan took over the watch after breakfast, hoping that Wilhelm would wake up again. Schultz had driven into town shortly after roll call to get a boiling hen and beef bones. And Hilda, whom Hans had called the evening prior to tell her about Klink's short time awake, had brought some potatoes and eggs. LeBeau would make an easily digested meal of it as soon as Schultz was back and had no problem with taking over command in the cantina's kitchen after Burkhalter gave his 'okay'. The one in Klink's quarters was unusable until a new window would banish the bitter cold.

Approximately at ten o'clock in the morning, a black SS-staff-car appeared at the gates, and Horst Schmidt stepped into the Kommandantur. Hilda looked up and gave him one of her beaming smiles.

"Good morning, my fair lady," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Is the castle's master present?" He nodded at the closed office door, and Hilda began to laugh while she rose.

"He is, oh honorable knight," she joked back, rounded the desk, closed the distance to him, stepped on the tips of her toes, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "How are you?" she asked gently, her eyes warm.

"So far I feel well – if it wouldn't be for the damn administration. It's killing me." He sighed dramatically, and Hilda laughed quietly.

"You need something to cheer up then," she replied.

"Oh, I've already found it," Horst smirked, winked at her, and was about to steal a kiss from her, as someone cleared his throat.

Turning around, both saw Burkhalter standing in the threshold, hands crossed behind his back, face betraying some amusement. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Uh…no," Schmidt said hastily.

"I…wanted to relieve the Oberleutnant from his coat," Hilda stuttered, blushing.

The general obviously enjoyed the two young people's embarrassment for a moment before he addressed Schmidt. "You brought the reports?"

"Uh…yes," Horst nodded.

"And you need me to sign them."

"Yes," Schmidt agreed, asking himself where and when he had lost his ability to formulate a complete sentence.

Something close to laughter rose in the general for the first time within the last few days. "Then come in. Before Fräulein Hilda's presence robs you of your last remaining vocabulary," Albert chuckled and returned to the office, a flushing Oberleutnant on his heels.

Ten minutes later, Burkhalter had read through everything and signed it. "Schultz is in town to get some collation food for Oberst Klink, but I think he'll return soon," he said, while closing the cap of his fountain pen. "You need Colonel Hogan's signature, too. If you want to get his first, you'll find him in the infirmary."

Schmidt cocked his head. "He's still staying with Oberst Klink?"

Burkhalter snorted, this time frustrated. "The two are thick like thieves. Last night Klink suffered from nightmares, and you have three guesses who was able to wake him up finally."

Schmidt cocked his head. "They really have become friends," he said slowly.

The general sighed. "I know that is against any written and unwritten rules. And usually I would have to separate them."

"But you didn't," the Oberleutnant stated.

Throwing up his hands, Burkhalter grimaced. "Hell, no. Do I have another choice? Stalag 13 is the only POW camp that runs smoothly. You know why? Because these two chaotical troublemakers have somehow managed to build something close to a relative quiet co-existence between their underlings here. I know that protocol has no paragraphs concerning something like this, because I think real friendship happens rather rarely between two official enemies, so I have some scope of discretion."

"And you took use of it," Horst assumed correctly.

"I have to. I have tons of trouble and problems on my shoulders right now – and one big problem less, namely a functioning POW camp, is one ton less I have to carry." He sighed. "I know that this friendship could be regarded as treason or at least as bad for the battle moral of our soldiers should it become public, but on the other hand, the last two days showed me that iron, loathe, and enmity aren't the answer to everything as soon as two opponent groups are jammed together. And maybe this camp already mirrors a part of the future, because – be honest – I don't think that we're still able to win this war."

Schmidt nodded slowly, realizing the trust Burkhalter had just put into him by speaking his mind this openly. And he wouldn't betray this trust. At least not by blowing the whistle on the general, because those words could be regarded as Wehrmacht subversion, even if they were true. "The chances are falling day by day," he agreed quietly.

"No wonder, given the fact that we have almost the whole world against us by now," Albert grumbled. He pinched his nose. "And still we have to smile, ball our fist in defiance and victory-certainty, and announce every few days how 'successful' we still are. We shut our eyes to the fact that we reached our limits weeks ago, but woe you try to tell this to the staff. You're quicker shot for high treason than you can even begin to explain why we're losing."

Cocking his head, Schmidt began to realize the reason for the general's sudden pessimism. "They were hard on you in Nürnberg," he stated softly, and Burkhalter huffed.

"They blamed mainly Freiberger because his failure made it possible for the Underground to sabotage the whole mission. And they also blame the technicians, which build 'flawed rockets and launchers', but I was in charge of the mission, and so they picked me to pieces, too…sort of. Heinrich defended me, and Herman did the same. Both said the best general can't win a battle when the equipment fails, but I know that the Führer and a few of his staff have it in for me now. He doesn't excuse any mistakes, especially not in the given circumstances, and I can call myself lucky that I got off the hook in the end. One mistake more, and I can make my testament."

Horst felt sympathy for the stout Austrian. He was on the staff's radar now, so to say, and this after he served loyally, lost his own home, and had an unrewarded job of being responsible for the POW camps of the Luftwaffe.

"Just stay away from Berlin within the next few days until the Führer finds something else to be busy with."

Burkhalter laughed shortly, but without amusement. "He is busy with everything and nothing, and to avoid him brings you more trouble than a solution. But seeing that I have to wait for a replacement for Klink and lead this camp until then, I have a good reason to not travel back to Berlin so quickly."

The telephone rang, and Burkhalter lifted the receiver. "Yes?" He listened closely before he answered, "Put him through." He lay one hand over the speaker and whispered, "Herman. If you excuse us."

Schmidt nodded with a short smile, collected the signed papers, and left the office. Hilda sat at her desk and smiled at him. "Finished?" she asked.

"Not really. I've to wait for Sergeant Schultz's return, and I have to get Colonel Hogan's signature for the reports. General Burkhalter assumes he's in the infirmary?"

She nodded. "He's there. Shall I accompany you?"

He grinned. "I would love to, but regarding this nasty ice-wind outside, you should stay here. We don't want you to get sick, won't we?"

"We?" She echoed.

"Well, Manfred and I." He winked, blew her a kiss, and left the Kommandantur. Yes, he would seek out Hogan – but not immediately. This was the best chance to gather the last piece of information he needed.

He looked around and saw Corporal Langenscheidt vanishing into the dorms. He knew that he and Schultz were friends, and Schmidt had the certain assumption that the Sergeant of the Guards was in the same boat with Klink and Hogan. After all, Schultz interacted with the POWs even more than the Kommandant…even with the senior POW officer. He had witnessed more than once the odd familiarity between the large Bavarian and Hogan's men. If Hogan was Papa Bear, then Schultz had to know it…and would not answer Schmidt's questions truthfully. The same went for Langenscheidt then.

No, he needed someone who didn't belong to this odd circle of men. His gaze found someone else – someone he had interviewed yesterday concerning the whole assault, too, and headed to the noncom. The young, red-haired man became nervous, and it made Schmidt almost sad how much the uniform he wore frightened most people by now.

"Do you have a moment, Corporal…?"

"Corporal Kleiber, Herr Oberleutnant," the young man answered, saluting quickly.

"At ease," Schmidt said, and smiled casually at Kleiber. "I asked you yesterday a few questions concerning the assault that was made against Oberst Klink. I have almost all the information together, but maybe you can provide me with some more details."

Kleiber gulped and nodded. "O-o-o-of course, sir."

"Can you tell me more exactly what happened after you and the others entered the Kommandant's quarters, Hochstetter was secured, and everyone realized the serious wound the Oberst had received?"

"What happened exactly then?" Kleiber asked confused.

"Yes. I can imagine that a certain chaos broke lose with Oberst Klink about to fall prey to his inflicted injury and no officer present who took the lead. Yes, Sergeant Schultz certainly is a capable man, but not only the problems in the quarters were to shoulder, but also the rising risk of the POWs taking the given chance to rebel."

Well, if this was all the SS-officer wanted to know, then Kleiber had no problems. He told Schmidt of the absolute mess inside of the building, the blank-laying nerves as everyone realized how gravely injured the Kommandant was, and how Hogan calmed everybody down, technically taking over command for the time being to help get everything under control again. He spoke of Hogan's orders, which prevented more chaos from breaking loose.

Schmidt slowly nodded. He had already learned from Burkhalter and Schultz during their stay at his office after the disaster with von Neuhaus, that Hogan – as a trained officer – had prevented an approaching catastrophe. A POW camp out of control was a powder barrel with a burning fuse. Even if it was absolutely unorthodox that a POW, officer or not, put himself into charge of a POW camp that wasn't liberated, Hogan had done the one and only best thing for all men within these wires. It showed Schmidt how strong Hogan's sense of duty was, but also another thing: Hogan protected this camp not only because he wanted to prevent death cases, he needed this camp intact. Why? Because it was his basis.

But how to get the last piece of proof?

Horst's gaze wandered over the guards in the watch towers, imagining what must have gone through them as the assault happened and afterwards. Most of them were young. Far too young for such a job. Others were too old. Only a few were in the middle ages and…

"Corporal, please correct me if I'm wrong, but most of your guards belong to the Volkssturm by now, right?"

"Yes, in the beginning of January most Luftwaffe privates were transferred to Luftwaffe bases and other facilities to tightly secure them. Approximately 70% of our guards here are members of the Volkssturm."

"Hm, the young ones certainly have learned English in school – at least those who went to gymnasium, but the older ones have not. How did they understand Colonel Hogan when he gave instructions? I know that he alerted the guards in German because Oberst Klink taught him some of it, but to give orders means he has to speak our language more…properly."

Kleiber smiled. "He does, Herr Oberleutnant. He gave his orders to several of us in German; to the others in English." He sighed. "You immediately realize who has an upper education of school and who don't. Foreign languages aren't taught in public elementary schools, but the colonel speaks German fluidly enough. I'm sure he learned it at school. Just like a few of us learned English during our education."

Schmidt made an affirming gesture. So, Hogan gave his orders in German to those who didn't speak English. Logical. And it gave him a chance to learn another detail. "Well, I heard Americans are speaking German like they have a hot potato in the mouth." He grinned at those words.

Kleiber laughed out, but quickly slapped a hand in front of his mouth, startled about his own impulse. "I apologize, Herr Oberleutnant. That was…"

"It's okay, Corporal. I won't tear your head off because you laughed. The Lord knows that we don't have much reason anymore to laugh. But concerning the 'hot potato', I really heard that rumor."

Shrugging, Kleiber replied, "Well, I don't know about other Americans, but Colonel Hogan speaks a very clear German. You hear a little accent, but nothing serious. You can't even place this accent. It sounds like some dialect, you know."

That was all Schmidt needed to know. Or, better to say, all except one last detail that was still unanswered. Pretending to have heard enough, he thanked the corporal, but stopped a second later. "Corporal, one last question. How was the garbage problem solved? We have a few problems at HQ, too, by now, and a little hint would be nice."

"Garbage problem, Herr Oberleutnant?" Kleiber was at a loss with what the other man meant.

"Yes. I heard that there was a big garbage problem when Oberst Klink, Sergeant Schultz, and I were in Berlin over three weeks ago." His face was the perfect mixture of innocence and curiosity.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but there was no garbage problem. Major Sandhaus was in charge, and I think he would have rather fed us garbage than allow any problem with trash."

"He wasn't very understanding, was he?" Schmidt asked, his mind already far away. He heard the corporal answer carefully that the interims Kommandant had been a 'difficult man', then he bid him goodbye and walked away.

So, there hadn't been a garbage problem. Of course not. It had been an excuse to call the People's Court and to get Oberst Klink on the line, using a pseudonym the Kommandant knew: Major Hoople.

Hogan had spoken two days prior very clear German with 'a little accent, but nothing serious'. The colonel had been under incredible stress with the camp spinning out of control, guards who didn't know what to do, and a dying Klink to take care of. But Schmidt was convinced that Hogan spoke even an accent free German when he concentrated on it… Just like he did as he called the People's Court.

Seeing that Schultz hadn't returned until now, he decided to grip the bull's horns and headed to the infirmary. Time to let the cat out of the bag.

He entered the sickbay and saw the lonely figure sitting near the sickbed, looking up from a book. "Lieutenant Schmidt," Hogan greeted and rose with natural politeness that showed the Oberleutnant that the American held simple, but true human respect for him.

"Colonel Hogan, still watching the Oberst," he answered. He couldn't help it: He was touched by this clear display of concern born from true friendship.

"He woke up last night and even half an hour ago, but he's sleeping a lot." Hogan sighed. "At least he isn't in a coma anymore."

The door to the backroom opened, and Dr. Glockner peeked out, saw the SS-officer, and stiffened a little bit.

"Doctor, would you please be so kind to grant us some privacy. I have to talk with Colonel Hogan about his given report, and the investigation isn't for a third pair of ears," Schmidt asked the surgeon, who grimaced and nodded.

"I'll get my coat. I wanted some fresh air anyways."

Schmidt waited until Glockner had left. He didn't need any witnesses for what he was about to do. Looking at Klink, he took a deep breath. The older man was still very pale, grey, and sported some red spots on his cheeks. A fever, no doubt.

"I'm glad to hear that he woke up," Horst said sincerely. Even if within the next minute he would prove true that Hogan was Papa Bear and Klink was a traitor, he couldn't help but like the Oberst. He was relieved that the man had survived his injuries so far.

"Yes, we too," Hogan agreed. "We were all worried."

"Given the fact that a few of your men donated blood for him, I believe that even the POWs developed concern for the Oberst. He's really someone special." Schmidt placed the map with the reports on an empty bed and glanced at Hogan. The American was pale, which made the bruise on his left cheek stand out even more, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. "You didn't get much sleep within the last two nights, did you? You look tired, Colonel."

Robert grimaced. "The first night were a few hours long, and last night I was called to the infirmary because Klink suffered from nightmares, and no one could wake him up."

Horst cocked his head. "But you were able to do it," he stated.

Shrugging, Hogan laid the book aside. "Yes, he somehow…reacts to my voice. We spent a lot of time together within the last two months and eliminated many prejudices about each other. We always got along better than necessary, but now…"

"Now you've become friends," Schmidt ended the sentence softly. "When I hear that you risked your neck for him during the assault and didn't try to escape in January, but rather took the wounded Oberst back to the camp, there is no other word more true than 'friendship'." He watched how Hogan rubbed his neck.

"Well, if you put it that way, I have to agree."

A snort escaped the Oberleutnant. "You can't deny it. Even General Burkhalter realizes it, but skipped from acting on it, how he told me a few minutes ago. Yet, don't you think it's odd yourself that you and your declared enemy have become friends?"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Please, no more lectures, Lieutenant. I already heard everything from Burkhalter, who was less pleased about this 'unnatural thing'. I really don't want to think of what our Brass would say if they knew that I befriended my own jailer."

"You think so?" Schmidt dug deeper.

The colonel glanced surprised at him. "I got a taste of it as General Barton was here. He called me a shame for the US Army and a traitor as he realized that the Oberst and I got along rather well. If it comes out that we became friends, the Brass is going to doubt my mind or sends me to court martial."

"Really?" Schmidt turned towards the colonel to watch him as good as possible. "I rather think they will give you a medal."

"A medal?" Hogan asked, with a short laugh. "Barely."

"And certainly also a promotion, even if you already hold a higher rank than the one you use to introduce your alter ego." He lifted both brows. "Isn't it so – Major Hoople?" He had to admit that the American had an immense self-control, because he blinked in perfect confusion.

"Who?"

"Or shall I use your cover name London and half of the German staff know you by: Papa Bear?" Schmidt added quietly.

Hogan stared at him for a moment and began to laugh again. "Oh please, not you, too."

Schmidt was trained to watch out for the tiniest signs of uncertainty, shock, discomfort, and other little hints which showed him when he had hit a nail on the head and the other one had to hide it. And in a fraction of a second he had seen Hogan's pupils widening before he had a tight grip on himself again. Remarkable.

"Yes, me too," Horst nodded. "I have no clue how many things Hochstetter believed to know about you, your tricks, and missions, and if they are true or not, but what I found out by now is enough to convict you as Papa Bear."

Hogan ignored the icy clenching in his belly and decided to play it cool. "And what did you find out, Lieutenant – better to say, think you found out?"

Horst fixed him with a firm, but also open glance. "It was you who called the People's Court to warn Oberst Klink about the upcoming air raid in Berlin."

"Me?" Robert asked, forcing a half smirk on his face. What, for God's sake, had the younger man found out to confront him like this?

"Yes, you called as 'Major Hoople' – a pseudonym that told Oberst Klink instantly who was really on the line, because you used that name before. You phoned the People's Court to warn him. You not only saved him, but Sergeant Schultz and me, too. In the end, also General Burkhalter, because Klink let none of us down. As he returned from the phone, he was nervous and in a hurry – almost desperate to take us away from Berlin Middle towards a town quarter of which he knew that wasn't a direct target of the Allies, even if several bombs fell down on it."

"Coincidence," Hogan answered brusquely, his mind running a thousand miles per hour. How did Schmidt figure out this detail? "Klink told me how the beginning alert surprised all of you and…" he began to wave off the whole issue, but Schmidt was as stubborn as he was.

"Nonsense. Klink knew exactly where to go within the short range of time that was left to get us to relative safety. He drove like the devil was after him. Officially, he was sick of what happened during the trial and wanted a good coffee at a Vienna Café in Berlin-Neukölln he knew from earlier times. I tried to get some information about this café to let him know if this little restaurant that 'saved' us, was still existing or fell prey to the bombs. You know what I learned? There isn't a Vienna Café in Neukölln. It has never existed during the last few decades in Neukölln or in the neighboring quarters. But after this ominous telephone call, Klink invited us to this café to get us away from Berlin Middle."

Robert cursed inwardly, but remained absolutely calm on the outside. "Maybe he mistook the town quarter," he shrugged. "Air raid alert was given, and everyone tried to get to safety. In such situations, you can mistake a location within a town you don't live in."

"Odd, because he gushed about the formidable sweets and coffee there…as if he knew this café very well. He even said so, telling us he knew it from earlier times." Schmidt shook his head. "Manfred's family was from Neukölln. I asked his aunt as I visited her. She is over thirty and told me that she couldn't remember a Vienna Café in the borough. I got the affirmation at the townhall. In all of South Berlin there is no Vienna Café – not until a few days ago. Not even within the last few decades. Klink lied concerning the Café. He chose this town quarter for one reason only: It was reachable in time and wasn't a declared target of the Allies. It's clear how he learned of the latter. 'From where blows the wind' he had asked on the phone, like one of the men who served at the telephone exchange of the People's Court told me. Klink asked you from where the attack would start. As a Luftwaffe officer, he knew then how the attack would be done, and he could act on it. He also asked you, 'how big the garbage hill is'. In truth, he asked you about the number of aircrafts that headed towards Berlin."

Hogan crossed his arms in front of his chest, cursing inwardly Schmidt's intelligence and investigation abilities. "Pretend that you're right. How should I get that information?"

"You got them the same way you exchange all information with London: Via radio," Horst deadpanned. "You learned of the upcoming air raid in Berlin and warned Oberst Klink, because he covers for you, but mainly because he's really your friend. You yourself said only last Sunday, 'I always take care of my friends', what your English friend affirmed with the words, 'he really can show claws and teeth when it comes to us'."

Throwing up his hands, Hogan groaned. "Yes, I'm there for my friends, but for the case that this one little detail slipped your attention: Newkirk referred to my protection concerning 'us' – means, my men, and…"

"Klink may be a German and official opponent officer, but he is also your friend and belongs to your gang. Heritage doesn't matter for you, and that you judge people by their heart, mind, and honor is something I realized within the last few weeks. You informed the Oberst in detail of what lay ahead in Berlin to heighten his chance of survival as much as you could. Thinking back, it became clear as he told us to stay in the subway tunnel after the first wave of attacks were finished. He tried to cover his knowledge of a second attack by saying 'usually it's done in two waves'. Usually there are longer breaks between two waves, but not this time. There were only a few minutes between the first and the second attack; something he couldn't know if he wouldn't have learned about it beforehand. And he learned it from you."

He thought to see the wheels not turning, but spinning in the colonel's head, while the American pressed his lips into a thin line before he answered, "Even if I called the People's Court, everyone would have known that I'm not German and would have acted on it instead of linking me to Klink. German is a foreign language for me and…"

"Your German is perfect," Schmidt interrupted him with an eyeroll. "'Wachen zum Quartier des Kommandanten'. That is advanced German grammar. Something you don't learn in a few weeks or even a handful of months, but in years. The guards already told me that you instructed them two evenings prior in fluid German, and your accent was 'nothing serious' despite the stress you were under. I imagine how well you speak my language when concentrating fully on it."

The two men stared at each other, and Schmidt realized that Hogan would not admit everything easily. Sighing, he pulled the sheet of paper out of his coat pocket and unfolded it, lifting it into the front of Hogan's face. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Fingerprints," came the short reply, as Robert saw the dark spots on the white paper.

"Yes, fingerprints. I found them on the radio transmitter our men seized last Saturday. One belongs to a thumb, the other one obviously to an index finger. Both were left on each side of two electrical connection pins, while I found the smaller one also on the Morse ticker that had been shot off but was brought together with the device to our HQ. I'm absolutely certain those fingerprints belong to you – or to one of your men."

Hogan lifted his chin. "Lieutenant, I was restricted to my quarters and…"

"The perfect alibi Klink provided you with. When a POW, officer or not, behaves this outrageous like you did last Friday evening towards General Burkhalter, he is put into the cooler as punishment. But not you. The Oberst ordered you to stay in your Barracks, sparing you the discomfort of a cold arrest cell. Yes, you are friends. Small favors are usually in such cases. But like this the Kommandant gave you the chance to be away from the camp without the general getting suspicious."

"What should I do outside of camp? One mobile rocket launcher was brought to Stalag 13. How should I know that there were more of them and…"

"Major Heintzen."

"Who?" Hogan pretended to be clueless of whom the Oberleutnant was speaking.

"Your men changed his flat tire last Friday while you spoke with him – rather calmly while your men worked, like I heard from two of my recruits who watched you from out of the woods, waiting for reinforcement to arrest the major."

Hogan snorted. "This guy forced my men to work for him by pointing a gun at me and…"

"The show you two gave was certainly impressing, and I would have loved to see it. Fact is, Major Heintzen was a defector from the Luftwaffe, telling you details about the launchers, and…"

"He had a flat tire. If it would be true what you imply, then he let his car has a break down exactly there where troops of the nearby POW camp worked. He also would have to know that one of the POWs, me in your opinion, belongs to the Underground. I can imagine how the whole thing went. 'Oh fine!' he thought, 'There is an American officer. What a luck. He can take over the whole mission so that I have one less problem to worry about'. So he gave me dangerous information and drove away, happy to be rid of the burden." Pure sarcasm was in Robert's voice while he shook his head. "Really, Lieutenant, do you really think espionage runs like this? I don't have much experience in this business – none, to be precise – but I don't think it's based on coincidence and trust."

"And yet, trust is the key to it – at least in your case," Schmidt replied wryly. "No matter your mission, you always can count on your men to cover your back and come to your aid if necessary. You can trust that Oberst Klink will be there for you, too, even risking his life to protect you. Concerning the coincidences: I'm sure that they play into your card, too, from time to time. You certainly have a lot of luck, otherwise you wouldn't be so successful like you are. But, on the other hand, you leave nothing to chance. You plan everything in detail and act on it."

He leaned against the base of Klink's bed, paper sheet still in one hand.

"The Royal Air Force's bombing of the two mobile rocket launchers was a precise assault. Something that only can be done when a detailed location is known. Someone watched the launchers and informed the pilots where the launchers were. Someone with a radio transmitter. We detected said radio, then everything went silent before we received new signals. Not far away from the place the launchers were destroyed and near a hunting cottage that was incredibly clean given the fact that it has been abandoned for years now. The owners left Germany before the war started, by the way. From the cottage you have a super view on the two crossing main roads, so said someone couldn't miss the launchers. Now the fingerprints come into play."

He crossed his ankles and saw how much Hogan fought with his instincts to keep up the pretense to be relaxed. "Two possibilities," Horst continued. "One: You operated the transmitter we found and therefore those fingerprints belong to you. Two: You were in the cottage, watched the two main streets and informed the waiting pilots, while two of your men distracted our detector to have your back. The latter makes even more sense when I put Klink into the scheme. It was him who answered General Freiberger's call concerning the detected signals and hung up afterwards, instead of linking him to General Burkhalter. The orders what to do came many minutes later. Freiberger almost got a heart attack during the time he was forced to wait. Klink bought some time for your men to rescue you by presenting themselves as decoys."

Hogan's face was set into stone. "And how should my men have learned about it? Did Klink leave his office after the call or…"

"Bugs," Schmidt stated simply. "I'm sure there are bugs in his office, and he knows it – uses it even to inform you and your men about urgent things when he hasn't a chance to speak with you in person."

Robert shook his head, trying to save what still was to safe. "This is…"

"The truth. Shall I examine the office?" Schmidt challenged, pointing with his free hand towards the Kommandantur. Yes, he had known that Hogan would deny it, but he wouldn't have any of it. He wanted the man's admission. Not by force, but because of proof, and he would get it. "I can also do more. If you're not Papa Bear, then you certainly have nothing against it if I take your fingerprints…and those of your men."

Hogan was about broke into sweat. Schmidt had him. If the Oberleutnant examined Klink's office, he would find the bugs, no doubt. And if he would take the Heroes' and Hogan's fingerprints, he would identify Baker. The colonel knew when he faced a dead end and was trapped. And, pursuantly to his nature, he faced a problem instead of trying to run away.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

The surprise on Schmidt's face was real. "I beg your pardon?"

"You came alone without at least a dozen of your guards to arrest my men and me. You didn't even bring Burkhalter along, but spoke with me in private. So this all here," he pointed between him and the younger man, "shall stay a secret. Why? Because you want something from me unofficially."

"Are you implying that I want to blackmail you?" Schmidt asked, thunderstruck.

Hogan cocked his head. "What else should I think?" he asked slowly, watching the Oberleutnant closely. Yes, the man's surprise seemed sincere, but Robert wouldn't take any risk. His men's, Will's, and his own survival depended on the next few minutes. And if it came to the worst, he would have to take action against Schmidt. Something he really didn't want to do. He hadn't forgotten that the younger man had helped him a few times. But if there wasn't any other choice left, Hogan would be forced to do something.

Horst crossed his arms in front of his chest. True, given the whole way the talk went, the colonel had to think that he was about to be blackmailed. But this wasn't Schmidt's style. He acted from conviction, and nothing else. And one thing was for certain: The moment had come at which he had to decide what to do now. Blow Hogan's cover or stay silent about it.

"So, you admit that you're Papa Bear," he said quietly, wanting to hear the truth from the colonel.

"You found enough proof, didn't you?" Hogan growled.

"Yes, but I want to hear it from you," Schmidt deadpanned. As he received nothing else than silence, he groaned. "Sweet Lord, Colonel, technically you already admitted it, so…"

"What. Do. You. Want?" There was a dangerous sound in Hogan's voice now, and Schmidt realized that he woke a sleeping tiger. As polite and even kind the colonel was, he also could turn into a very dangerous man – someone who would protect his men and his mission at all costs. Almost. He had one weak spot and that were his friends. And putting them at stake was the best way to make the colonel your enemy.

Schmidt sighed. This was the last chance to do what duty demanded from him…but deep in his heart, he had already made his decision.

"I want nothing, Colonel." As he saw the utter disbelief on the American's face, he continued. "Am I right that others already found out about you and tried to blackmail you with their knowledge?" He shook his head. "That's something I would never do. Besides the fact that you would try to eliminate the danger by shutting me up, you…"

"I'm no killer, Schmidt!"

"I know, and I'm certain that the one or other 'dead' person is in truth a POW in England. And I would end up there to, wouldn't I?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. He took a deep breath and spoke what simply came to his mind from out of his heart. "I want nothing for myself. I only ask you to take care of Hilda, her parents, and Little Manfred should it come to the worst. I don't know who will reach Hammelburg first: The West Allies or the Russians, but one of them will arrive here sooner or later. I have no clue how the Americans are treating the people of the conquered towns, but if you are an example of the US Army, I don't think that the civilians have to fear you. But I know it will be utterly different if the Red Army reaches Hammelburg first. Please, protect Hilda, Manfred, and the Schneiders. That's all I ask of you."

Hogan had to admit that he was baffled. Every other SS or Gestapo officer who found out about the Unsung Heroes tried to gain their own advantage from it. But not Schmidt. If this was really all he wanted in return for keeping Hogan's identity a secret, then the younger man was even more decent than Robert had thought.

Pursing his lips, he said softly, "Hilda is my friend – and you already pointed out that I always take care of my friends. So that's nothing you have to ask me for."

"Yet I do," Schmidt answered quietly. "I love Hilda, and her safety is more important to me than anything else."

Hogan nodded slowly. "Even more important than to arrest a spy."

A sigh escaped the Oberleutnant. "To say the truth, even if I wouldn't love Hilda and that little boy, I wouldn't have blown your cover. You are a honorable man, Colonel, despite the fact that you're a spy and saboteur. The same goes for Klink." He lifted a hand as Hogan began to protest. "The Oberst is your supporter and protector. There is nothing you can say or do to convince me of the contrary. You two are working together, and I understand you and the others from the Underground. What's been going on in Germany for years now is nothing any decent man should even tolerate, but we have no other choice. Our own executive forces are our people's enemies by now and do not hesitate to eliminate anybody who doesn't play along or could spread 'rebellious ideas'. Instead of concentrating to secure our borders, thousands of men are roaming the streets and spying on people only to force them into obedience. It's sickening." He shook his head and snorted with sudden amusement. "And then there are you and your friends. To think that a handful of men who are 'locked up' in a POW camp are giving the Wehrmacht and SS serious trouble is unbelievable. And you know what? I admire you for it."

Hogan nodded slowly. He didn't relax, but he felt some tension leaving him. "So, you're saying you're on our side?"

"I'm against the madness that has seized my country. Don't misunderstand me, Colonel, I won't give you any information or blow the whistle, but I'll keep your double life and this of your friends a secret. No one will learn from me that you're indeed the master spy half of the SS is after." He offered Hogan the sheet of paper. "Here. It's the only exemplar. There exists no copy, and I cleaned the items the fingerprints were on. I suggest you burn it. Like that, all tracks are destroyed."

Taking the paper, Robert glanced down at it, thunderstruck. "You put a lot of trust in me right now. I could burn this and still shut you up."

Schmidt smiled. "That's not your style, Colonel. You're a man of honor, after all. I only want your promise that you keep Hilda, her parents, and Manfred safe."

Hogan slowly went to the oven, opened it, and threw the paper into the flames. For a moment, he watched how the fire burned the only proof that could be his men's, Will's, and his own doom. Then he closed the little door and turned around towards the Oberleutnant. "What about you?"

"Me?" Schmidt blinked in confusion.

"Yes, you. You could demand from me to protect you, too, you know."

Horst snorted. "Colonel, please, I'm a high ranking SS-officer. I know what lays ahead for me. With a little bit of luck, I'm only locked up for a decade or so. But if the Army judges are in a less merciful mood, I face the hangman or a firing squad."

"Nonsense!" Hogan said wryly. "You're a police officer and…"

"Do you really think the Allies will differ between the three SS units?"

Robert shrugged. "I can't speak for the Russians, but I know that our army does make differences. You're a police officer, and – as much as I hear – respected and liked in town. You don't abuse your position, you're decent and honorable, and you treat everyone politely and fair. I see no reason why any court martial should sentence you. But given the fact that you're in charge of the Gestapo and SS-HQ in Hammelburg, you could get into trouble. At least in the beginning. So, yes, you could need my protection."

Schmidt shook slowly his head. "You have no reason to…"

"On the contrary, Schmidt, I do have a reason. A few, to be precise, and they have nothing to do with you knowing my secret. There's Hilda, who loves you in return, by the way. I want her to be happy, despite the dark times which will not end when the war is over. Germany lays more or less in ruins, and you need years to build up your country again. And now you come into the picture. You are a fair and decent man, and people like you are needed after the war to get something close to order into the chaos that already exists and certainly will worsen within the next few weeks or months. And besides, you helped me – not only down in the cellars, but also later as you warned me during the investigation of that Kriminalrat." He slowly closed the distance to the younger man. "Tell you what: I already promised Hilda to hold a protecting hand over you when this camp and the town are liberated. And you just gave me another reason to keep that promise. You are selfless, and that's something I haven't met often."

Horst stared with big eyes at the American, speechless for once.

Hogan chuckled as he saw the awe in Schmidt's eyes. He offered him his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Schmidt nodded. "Deal," he said, shaking Hogan's hand.

Robert took a deep breath. Sweet Lord, for a moment he had really been worried. But now… He frowned as an important question rose in his mind. "May I ask how it came that you suspected me? You didn't believe Hochstetter, but then you began to track me down, too. Why?"

Schmidt smirked at him. "You made three big mistakes, Colonel. First, you used the excuse of a garbage problem within the camp to phone Klink at the People's Court – a problem that never existed. Two: You used a name that is neither German nor exists in any other language. A fantasy name, so to say. And this camp has no major, otherwise it wouldn't have been necessary to send Major Sandhaus as an interims Kommandant for Stalag 13. Yet this name appeared one time before: On a list of two Wehrmacht officers who collected money for a false project. You paid them off for Klink." He cocked his head. "The men were caught as they spent counterfeit money. Is there the tiniest chance that this counterfeit money came from you?"

A wide grin spread over Hogan's face, which was an answer enough. Schmidt had to laugh. "A non-existing major gives counterfeit money to two cheaters who collected money for a fake project. That I'm calling a cock-and-bull-story."

"I hoped that they would be caught because of it. They blackmailed Wilhelm, and that's something I didn't like even back then…as he and I weren't real friends yet."

Schmidt smiled shortly. "Ah yes, Wilhelm Klink. This is the transition to the third mistake you made. You risked your whole operation, your missions, and your life – and that of your men – the moment you phoned the People's Court to get into contact with Klink to warn him. You're a dutiful man, but friendship counts more for you. No investigations, no evidence – no matter how much of them were gleaned – nothing could reveal your secret, but your unwavering loyalty to your friends did. Espionage is one of the most dangerous businesses of the world, and you have to keep a clear and cold head to stay alive in it. You have to be ready to make sacrifices…but you're unable to do the latter as soon as your friends are at stake. Feelings have no room in this shitty job, but your heart is full of them. This had to reveal you one day and you knew it, yet you stood true to your nature that left you no other choice than doing everything to keep Klink safe. Your strong loyalty, you deep friendship, and your willingness to fight for your friends is incredible, but dangerous. And yet, we both know that you would do it again without blinking an eye."

His glance wandered to the deeply asleep Klink, and he smiled softly. "You can call yourself fortunate to have found such a good friend, Oberst." He looked back at Hogan and smirked. "You offered me protection, but I think here and there it's you who needs it."

"Aren't we all in need of someone who has our back from time to time?" Robert answered quietly.

"Yes, certainly. And I think the only reason why you're still alive – you, your men, and Klink – is because you watch out for each other. The strength of your gang is your friendship. I'm glad that something like that still exists." He took the map with the documents. "Here are the reports concerning Hochstetter's assault. It's also the big proof how much you care for this camp and its occupants. I'm glad to have met someone like you, for whom not the heritage counts, but the man." He offered the colonel the map, who accepted the documents.

"And I'm glad that my first opinion of you turned out to be true," Robert answered, before he glanced down on the papers. "I'll read through them, sign them, and give them back to you. And then hopefully we can close the file 'Hochstetter' once and for all."

"I hope the same," Schmidt nodded and turned to leave, but looked back one last time. "Colonel, may I ask what you really told Hochstetter yesterday morning?"

An almost evil smirk appeared on Hogan's face. "The truth," he said simply.

For a long moment, Horst gazed flabbergasted at him, then broke into laughter. "You can be a devil sometimes," he chuckled.

"If I need to be," Hogan drawled, but winked at the younger man, relieved that his secret was still safe without acting against Schmidt.

Still laughing, Schmidt waved at the American and left. He knew that he had made the right decision.

TBC…

Yeah, sometimes the truth makes new enemies, sometimes you win new friends because of it. Hochstetter wasn't stupid, but too blockheaded to use his gained knowledges and assumptions concerning 'Papa Bear'. And his hate was certainly another hindrance in his desire to convict Hogan. Schmidt is a complete different kind of man, and reacted in agreement with his heart and mind.

In the next chapter you're going to meet one of Klink's family members. I don't want to reveal, who it will be, but the unexpected visit elicits some chaos.

I hope you liked the new chapter, and I'm looking forward to get some comments.

But one thing is far more important in the moment.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas, have a nice holiday with your family and friends, and may Santa Claus being nice to you.

Enjoy your time,

Love

Yours Starflight