Hi, my dear readers!
Thank you for the many comments. You know that I love to get them, and I'm happy that the last chapter was to your liking. I know that there were a few twists, and I'm glad that they caught you like they obviously did.
In the new chapter Hogan becomes one time more his alter ego Papa Bear and is off to the rescue, this time for a few escaped Allies, but also escapees of German heritage. But their pursuer are already blowing down their neck, and it becomes a very dangerous night for Hogan and his men.
I hope, you're going to enjoy it.
Have fun
Yours Starflight
Chapter 75 – The rescue mission
Klink's famous-infamous shout for his second in command had not only made guards and POWs grin, but also had cost the Oberst a lot of strength. Of course Hogan rebuked him, telling him that he really had no reason to get into a fit.
One of the guards got Schultz, who came running as quickly as he could, then both – he and Robert – were lectured. Yes, Klink understood that his beloved troublemaker had agreed to hide the escapees and the pilot, and yes, he could understand that Schultz hadn't had it in him to deny Hogan the needed support. After all, Will knew how much his witty fox could persuade someone. But had the two of them to turn the camp upside-down? Klink was out of commission for only a week, and those two were already spreading chaos through Stalag 13.
"Calm down, Will. Everything will be in order," Robert said, smiling winningly at his lover.
"Nothing is in order. Our budget for March has to be completely used already for those ten stock beds. Ten! For God's sake, why not twenty or thirty. And what about those files? If they're not perfect, then…"
"Newkirk is making them," Rob interrupted him, trying to reassure him. "They'll withstand any closer look. Hell, he makes the passports for all those men and women we already smuggled out of Germany – hundreds of them. And…"
"And this calms my nerves so much." Will groaned before he frowned. "What did Newkirk do before he entered the British Service? Was he a forger, or what?"
"Well, sort of," Hogan admitted, with a sheepish grin. "And he plays cards extraordinary…"
"In other words he cheats." Wilhelm translated.
"He has a really good talent to open locked doors, as well."
"He's also a burglar." Klink nodded.
"And he can relieve people from too much freight they're carrying with them."
"A pickpocket therefore." The Oberst moaned and rubbed his face with one hand. "Let me guess, because of him you got everything that was locked away in my safe. Code books, plans, print plates, etc.?" Hogan smirked widely, and Wilhelm shook his head. "Super. Now I'm convinced that those faked files are well made." He gave the younger man a dark glare and grimaced, as he received an innocent, boyish smile in return.
"I never thought that the Englander was such a…cheeky fellow," Schultz murmured. "But somehow it fits him."
Klink glanced at him. "Then you two go along very good together, seeing that you're a rascal, too. Ten stock beds, really?"
Hans lifted an index finger. "Besides the fact that I had to make certain that no one gets suspicious of my purchase, I did it out of foresight."
"Foresight – you?" Klink mocked.
"Yes. There are so many battles going on right now, the Wehrmacht will certainly take new prisoners. Those that will be sent to POW camps – ours included. And when they come, we have already taken care that they have a bed to sleep in."
Wilhelm made a face. "Why not buy new night clothes, tooth brushes, and thick socks for them, too? I'm sure they will need them."
"If you think so, I will drive to town and…"
"Schuuuultz, do you want to ruin me?" Klink took a deep breath and looked at the two men beside his bed. "Really, you two are bringing me to an early grave."
"Fortunately not," Hogan deadpanned. "Otherwise I could have spared myself the fight with Hochstetter."
Will bit his lips and glanced up at the younger man full of guilt. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, and this time, it was Hogan who gave him a stern glare before his face softened.
"Don't worry. I promised you I'd take care of Stalag 13." He ignored the large Bavarian, who cleared his throat in protest. "And I intend to do just exactly that. I will neither endanger my men, nor yours, but Schultz and I had to act quickly. Those men will give you no trouble, I promise. And despite the rationed nourishment, we'll manage to feed twelve mouths more. It isn't as if the number of POWs would be doubled, you know."
He couldn't know that he somehow had hit the nail on the head…
*** HH *** HH ***
On the next day, the new interims Kommandant still hadn't shown up. It was more than clear now that something must have happened to him, and Schultz tried again to reach Burkhalter in Berlin – for naught. The general was still in meetings, and Hans discerned a certain nervousness in the secretary's voice. Something had to be wrong. Very wrong.
Asking the woman to tell Burkhalter to get on the phone with him as soon as he was back, Schultz began with the daily routine in the office. Hogan showed up after ten o'clock, helped him again with a few documents, and left an hour to return to the infirmary. He had spoken with his men before he went to the Kommandantur and had praised Newkirk, who was finished with all twelve files. The covers looked used, there were a few spots on the pages, some of them had even dog ears. When the photos would be added, no one could guess that the files weren't real.
Robert told Wilhelm about it, who suffered from boredom. Hogan stayed with him. Kicking his shoes off and stripping out of his leathern bomber jacket, he lay down beside his lover, held him in one arm, and talked with him. Wilson looked after the Kommandant in early midday, and at lunchtime, when Hogan rose to be presentable again, Louis brought them both a home cooked meal.
He was enraged the moment he stepped deeper into the infirmary. Langenscheidt, who accompanied him, was pale and gritted his teeth as he placed Klink's plate on the nightstand.
"What's eating you guys?" Hogan asked, while he filled Klink's and his own glass with fresh water.
"The bosche in Berlin. He should rot in the purgatorial fire for all eternity," LeBeau spat.
"God damn bastard. Someone should shoot him or eliminate him otherwise. As if we haven't suffered enough, now he's bringing new anguish. I would love to strangle him," Karl whispered beneath his breath, glanced at Klink, then at Hogan and added firmly, "If he was here, I'd have no problem telling him that to his face."
Hogan frowned. The fact that both corporals were furious about the same thing – despite the fact that they officially were opponents – had to be something big. "What is it?" he asked, and it was LeBeau who answered.
"Hitler made a speech on the radio."
"Wow, within the last two years he rather avoided to appear on public scenes," Hogan mocked.
"In this case he spoke himself," LeBeau growled. "All families, whose male members have been recruited as soldiers and don't fight to the utmost but surrender, will be taken into custody – kin liability." He threw up his hands. "Can you imagine that? If a boy or older man surrenders instead of letting himself be killed, he has to fear his whole family will be punished. What kind of leader orders something like that?"
"No leader, but an insane criminal who is bare of any empathy and unable to accept the truth," Karl snarled, his pale face flushed. Then he glanced at Klink and said, "I'm sorry, Herr Kommandant, I know that I've made myself guilty of treason, but the truth has to remain the truth. No law made by men can change that fact."
Will smiled softly. "You're right, Langenscheidt. Don't worry about me reporting you to the SS or something like that. I think we all know that the war is lost. Hitler is like a rabid animal now; he lashes out at everything and everyone, dealing out blows right and left. If he could, he would even claw and bite."
Hogan nodded. "You look right through him, Will. When I remember my trainings prior to my missions, which also included some psychology, then you realize that with every order he gives against his own people, he's giving a kind of revenge. That he's about to lose this war pains him, so he wants to make everyone else hurt, too. As a kind of payback, because they 'let him down'. I heard rumors that he blames everyone for a lost battle but himself. Everyone is guilty but him. It's typical, notorious denial born out of fear from one's own mistakes. That, combined with his lack of empathy, existing paranoia, and a good portion of inferiority complex, lead to a catastrophe." He lowered his gaze. "I only hope that it won't be too late for the Germans when the war is finally over. I don't want to imagine how many innocent victims will be lost because of the fight Hitler is battling against his own people."
"It's no wonder that on his orders so many people were killed. If he doesn't have any pity for those who are helpless, how could you expect him to show compassion for anybody else?" LeBeau mused while he served Hogan his lunch.
"He regards pity and mercy as weakness," Wilhelm murmured. "And in truth, you need a lot of strength to feel compassion for a stranger or an opponent – a strength he doesn't have." He glanced at Hogan. "Thank the Lord that there are still men who differ a lot and don't stay aside while injustice happens, but try to help."
Robert knew to what Will was referring to: the twelve escapees they would take in, despite the unwanted risk.
Langenscheidt and LeBeau saw the look the two officers glanced at each other with, rolled their eyes, and had to smirk for a moment. Karl served his CO lunch, and both corporals left, feeling a bit better, yet still outraged of the 'bubble brain's' newest order. But this should only be the beginning.
*** HH *** HH ***
"Understood, Little Red Riding Hood. Papa Bear out." Kinchloe cut the connection, pinched his nose, and rose. Newkirk looked questioningly at him.
"And?"
"The guys will be there at 2300 hours tonight near the abandoned darn on Pfaffenhausener Street. They'll be hidden on a truck."
Peter sighed. "At least it's on this side of Hammelburg for once and not in the north." He went to the ladder. "Another evening we'll hit the pillows late."
"Right," Kinch agreed, and climbed after him into Barracks 2.
Carter lay on his bunk and looked up as he heard his two friends returning. "Anything new?" he asked
Newkirk clapped a hand on the frame of Carter's upper bed. "You got the jackpot, my friend. A nice evening trip. You can stretch your legs, get some fresh air, and…"
"Don't tell me the guys are coming already," Andrew groaned.
"Even better, they're not alone. A whole SS pack is on their track," Kinchloe said. "Wagner just let us know that we have to pick them up at 2300 hours and have to bring them into the camp tonight, or the black-clad hound dogs will get them for sure."
"Super," Carter complained. "And I had a rendezvous with a pretty girl this evening."
Newkirk gave him a glare. "You wouldn't know a pretty girl was coming your way even if she ran into you."
"Very funny," Andrew replied, indignant.
"Where is the meeting point?" LeBeau prodded.
"Pfaffenhausener Street; four kilometers from here."
"Bien. When you're almost this close to town to get me some Provincial herbs, garlic, tomatoes, and…"
"And which wine do you prefer; red or white?" Newkirk pulled his leg.
"Typical, you British. As if wine only differs because of its color. You have to…" LeBeau's beginning tirade was interrupted as Hogan entered the Barracks, realizing instantly that his men were in a friendly quarrel.
"What now, fellas?" he asked, amused.
"LeBeau and Newkirk can't agree on the shopping list for this evening," Kinch commented wryly, while serving himself some coffee from the stove.
"Shopping list? Don't mention that to Klink. I think Schultz's purchase of ten stock beds really hit one of his nerves."
James grinned at him. "Then we better not tell him the real reason for our trip this evening."
Robert cocked his head. "The escapees?"
"Wagner called a few minutes ago. We have to get the guys tonight, or the SS can register another success by capturing men on the run."
Hogan grimaced. "When and where?" As Kinch gave him the details, Robert rolled his eyes. "Great. I have to creep from the infirmary to here and later back, because the guards outside will get suspicious if I don't remain in sickbay like every other evening." He nodded gratefully at LeBeau, who offered him coffee. "Now the chicken comes home to roost that we didn't dig a tunnel to the infirmary." He glanced at his second in command. "Any instructions from the Underground on how to proceed?"
Kinch nodded. "Yes…and I'm sure you're not gonna like it, Colonel."
*** HH *** HH ***
"Danke, ich weiß Bescheid. Auf wiederhören. (Thank you, I know all about it. Good day)." Schmidt placed the telephone receiver back on the phone while he combed both hands through his blond hair.
"Trouble?" Fuhrmann had brought him some reports and looked down on his frustrated superior.
"It depends," Horst sighed. "The prisoners, which escaped the camp Hochstetter was sentenced to and the pilot whose aircraft dropped down on it, have been spotted near Schweinfurt. Some attentive citizen alerted the SS there, but as our colleagues stormed the empty building, it was completely empty. Now they've begun a search on the whole area – and we have the honor to support them." He grimaced. "As if we don't have any other problems."
"Shall I put a team together?"
Schmidt snorted. "One? The Kriminalrat of Munich demands that all of our men shall support this task." He rubbed his temples. "I also have to consider the town's safety. We're the police, dammit." He glance up. "Put two teams together, not more. Seeing that the escapees are in Schweinfurt, they'll be heading north. One of our teams should patrol the northeast of Hammelburg and the other in the southeast. Road blocks, controls of trucks, and the other usual measurements." He rose and got his coat. "And there I hoped that I could go to bed early for once."
Fuhrmann smiled and followed him out of the office.
The Oberleutnant pressed his lips into a thin line. He assumed that the escapees were in the area for one reason only: To find a hideout. And he had a gut feeling that a certain American colonel was involved.
'Stay out of this, Hogan. If you're captured, I can't help you.'
*** HH *** HH ***
"You're doing what?" Wilhelm Klink glanced up with big, worried eyes at his beloved, who sat down on the neighboring bed.
"We have to pick up the escapees later this evening and bring them to Stalag 13, or they're done for. The SS is blowing down their necks, and…"
"And what if you're caught, too?" Klink carefully sat up, ignoring the pain in his belly.
"Will!" Robert gasped, bending forwards and gripping for the older man's shoulders. "Are you mad, lie down!"
"I already get a backache from all this lying in bed," the Oberst complained. "Help me…"
Rob got his own pillow and two others to put behind Klink's back to support him. "Be careful," he whispered in concern, while he helped Wilhelm lay back.
Will sighed as he leaned against the pillows and glanced up at his beloved. "You too," he said softly, entwining the fingers of his hand with Hogan's. "Promise me to be careful…and to come back to me."
Hogan felt himself melting as he realized how much his lover worried for him. Bending down, he captures Will's mouth with his and sighed with a wave of affection as the other man's long arms were wrapped around him. For a long moment, nothing else existed than the two of them, savoring each other's familiar taste and beloved proximity. Then Robert lifted his head and let the knuckles of his hand wander gently over Wilhelm's cheek.
"Don't fear, Will," he whispered. "I always come back to you."
"I'll hold you to that promise," Klink murmured, and tightened his arms around the younger man. "Be careful. Please."
Robert nodded with determination. "I promise," he said.
*** HH *** HH ***
It was freezing cold as Hogan and his men cowered in the bushes near the large bending that Pfaffenhausener Street made. The road led from Hammelburg along the Fränkische Saale River towards the little neighboring village of Pfaffenhausen, and it was in miserable condition. The holes had been repaired by the POWs within the last two weeks, yet the frost had left its tracks again, and the street was covered with potholes. At least the snow wouldn't give away the foot prints the escapees and the Heroes' would leave behind. It was hard packed and full of tire tracks and foot prints of the POWs which repaired the road.
The five men crouched side by side to keep each other warm. Clad in black, with black paint on their faces, they melted within their surroundings. Hogan glanced at his wrist watch. 23:05. He bit his lips. Olsen, who had worn Hogan's usual uniform as he went to the infirmary, was covering in the colonel's pajamas, while Wilson slept in another bed. Yes, Schultz would cover for him, and Robert thought the same about Langenscheidt, but should another noncom or guard be brought into the infirmary, questions would rise if the senior POW officer wasn't there. Olsen had brought his own clothes with him to the infirmary, too – hiding them in the bed to switch clothes with Hogan later.
"Damn coldness," Newkirk complained beside him. "If it wouldn't be for these guys, I'd be warm and cozy in my bunk."
"Believe me, those poor bastards are freezing, too. And contraire to us, they've traveled a hard and stony way within the last few days, always with the threat hovering above them to be captured and killed," Robert murmured.
"And I'm sure they're hungry, too," LeBeau added softly.
"Quiet. I hear something," Carter whispered, making the others shut up.
Hogan listened closely and nodded. Yes, there was a motor coming nearer – a motor with a few problems like it sounded. They heard irregular grumbles within the motor noise accompanied by some squeaks.
"That vehicle is on its way out," Peter commented, and Kinchloe snorted shortly.
"Like so many other things within Germany."
Two lights pierced the darkness, and an old truck came nearer, swaying and bucking over the dilapidated road. Near the Heroes' hideout, the truck stopped, and a man climbed down from the driver's cap. Looking around, he took a hand lamp and gave the agreed signal.
"There we go, fellas," Robert murmured, and rose, waving at the man. Closing the distance to him, Hogan watched him carefully until he recognized one of the Underground supporters from earlier missions. "Köster," he greeted quietly. "How are you doing?"
The man was in his late fifties and limped terribly. "My leg gives me more and more trouble," he answered and smiled at Hogan. "But you look good, Colonel. A little bit dark in the face, but…" He shrugged with his own special humor. Then he went to the truck's side and knocked against the wooden frame. "Last stop, Gentlemen," he said. "All out."
Hogan nodded at his men, who hastened to the end of the truck to give the escapees a lending hand down. "Any problems?" Robert wanted to know, and Köster grimaced. "I had to avoid a few road blocks, and the area is full with SS. It's a wonder that we made it so far." He glanced at the smuggled men, who left the truck one by one while some noises from the load bed showed that something was pushed around. "They came this morning, and we hid them in a cellar. A few hours later, SS men came and searched the street. This new Kommandant the Headquarters…"
"Schmidt?"
"I don't know his name, but he was anything but pleased that some dudes from Munich are trying to command him around. I was on the market like them and heard a part of their talk. The leading SS officer from us – Schmidt, like you just told me – sent a few of his men to support them, but he also started an argument with the higher ranking SS guy from Munich. Schmidt said that we have other problems in Hammelburg than hunting 'phantoms'. He thinks the men are already over the hills and far away."
Hogan pursed his lips and watched how Newkirk and Carter were already guiding the first group of men into the bushes. Maybe Schmidt already assumed the truth.. "Has the SS followed them from Landshut to here?" He nodded at the men, and Köster shrugged.
"They're searching in the east and north. The two other directions make no sense, so…"
One of the men headed towards Hogan accompanied by Kinchloe. "Colonel?" James addressed him. "Our pilot."
"Sergeant Matthias Rooney, US Army Air Corps," the man introduced himself with a salute.
"Colonel Robert Hogan from the same club," Rob replied, while he returned the salute. "Welcome to the area of Stalag 13."
"Colonel!" LeBeau came running. "I think I heard something coming down the road."
Hogan cursed. "Quick," he said harshly, waving at the other escapees to hurry up. "Into the bushes with you – ab in die Büsche. Kinch, Newkirk, show them the way to camp. LeBeau, Carter, have their back." He glanced at Köster. "You should drive away and…"
The noises became louder.
"Too late. Go and save yourself," Köster interrupted him, returned to the driver's cap, bent down, and screwed off the valve of his left tire. He gestured wildly at Hogan, who hesitated. "Just go, Colonel. Don't worry, they have no reason to suspect me."
Gritting his teeth, Robert vanished into the bushes, cursing inwardly. It was not his style to leave someone behind who could face a serious situation, yet he saw no other way, or he, his men, the escapees and in the end Klink, Schultz and the others, too, were done for.
Lights pierced the night and instinctively Hogan cowered down, only now seeing that Kinch and Rooney were a few meters away from him seeking cover like he did. James gave him a signal telling him that the others were already on their way to camp.
Köster's cursing in German drove the colonel's attention back to the truck and the Underground member, who closed the valve and got a foot pump from driver's cap. The man stopped in his movements as a black SS truck and staff car stopped not too far away from him, the headlines bathing him in a bright light.
Hogan pursed his lips as he saw a few SS members leaving the truck, while from the car stepped a man in his middle ages who wore the insignias of an Obersturmbandführer (comparable with a colonel). On the other side, another man left the car: Horst Schmidt.
Köster stemmed his free hand in his waist and held the pump in the other one, looking at the uniformed men. "Ah, the guys in the white hat," he grumbled. "Sorry, I forgot that you wear black caps instead."
"What are you doing here?" the strange officer asked sharply.
"And a good evening to you, too," Köster replied with rolling eyes.
Schmidt shot his companion an edgy glare, walked towards Köster, and tipped at his temple in a casual salute. "Good evening, mein Herr (sir). May we ask what's going on here?"
The Underground member had recognized the young officer as the SS-HQ's Kommandant, who held this post for more than two months now and gained some respect in Hammelburg because of his politeness and unusual fairness.
"Good evening," Köster nodded, while he lifted the pump. "I have a problem with the left front tire. The third time within two days." He shook his head, acting enraged. "Can you imagine that? It's the third time that I've had to pump air in this blasted thing, and now in the middle of nowhere. This with my damn rheumatism. I could strangle this stupid thing."
One of Schmidt's men rounded the truck and saw the flat tire, nodding at the two officers to confirm the man's words.
"And what are you doing here during this late evening?" the Obersturmbandführer demanded.
"Believe me, I would prefer to be at home and get warm again, but someone has to deliver firewood to the villages around here," Köster growled. "I would be done for today if it wouldn't be for this damn tire."
The SS-officer stepped on the open cargo bed and looked into the truck. Branches and logs were piled up in a few heaps, some broken branches and logs were spread over the bed. The escapees had followed the given instruction to cover the load bed with a part of the cargo so that no one could get the idea that people had once sat there.
"You're really late with your deliveries," he said slowly, and Köster shrugged.
"In earlier times I was faster. Slowness comes with the age and war injuries." He began to limp back to the side where the tire had lost air and began to set up everything to set the pump to work.
Schmidt's men returned to their superior. "All clear, sir," one of them reported.
The Obersturmbandführer was not convinced. He closed the distance to Köster again and asked, "Have you met someone on your way, or have you seen something out of order?"
"Despite high ranking SS-men driving around as if they have no home to return to? No." Köster hesitated. "Okay, there was this deer a kilometer back or so that ran around. Unusual at this hour, but otherwise…" He shrugged.
Schmidt only listened with one ear. He had a certain gut-feeling that there was more going on here.
As the Obersturmbandführer had arrived around midday in Hammelburg, searched him out at the market where Schmidt had been to get some items for Manfred, Horst had known that trouble had stepped into town. The Obersturmbandführer demanded support for the search of the escapees. Schmidt couldn't deny that he was convinced that the men were somewhere around here. This was Hammelburg and the territory of Papa Bear – Hogan. The same man, who not only had done sabotages in a quantity that could make you dizzy, he certainly was also responsible for hundreds of 'vanished' people. And the escapees had to 'vanish' if they wanted to survive. At least those who had been locked away because of political and ethical reason.
Of course Schmidt had had no other choice than to support the higher ranking SS-officer, and now he even joined the search parties. If the escapees were really here and Hogan was involved, then the colonel would eventually need Schmidt's help. Not an active one, mind you, but at least he could support him passively. The question was were those men here on scene or not?
Glancing around, Schmidt's gaze fell on the ground. Footprints, tire tracks…nothing unusual. And yet something was not right. With slow steps, he walked around the truck and his gaze fell on a few broken branches at two bushes. As if something had gone through them…or someone.
Pursing his lips, Horst looked over his shoulder. The Obersturmbandführer was still questioning the truck driver, and the others were following the discussion and…and there was something in the bushes. For the tiniest moment, he had heard a noise like someone was shuffling around before something cracked. Carefully, he stepped nearer. If the escapees, which he hoped were already far away, were really here, the chance that they would attack him was given. Yet he couldn't bring himself to grip for his pistol.
In the bushes, Hogan and Kinchloe didn't move a muscle, but Rooney wasn't trained like the others were. Cowering for minutes elicited cramps in his legs, he let himself down on the knees. A thin branch cracked beneath him, and he held his breath. With widening eyes he watched through the leafless bushes, how one of the SS-officers turned his head into his direction and came closer.
Rooney took a deep breath. He wouldn't allow the SS to get the colonel and the other man. He was an American pilot and protected by the Geneva Conventions. If they caught him, it would be unpleasant, but at least the other escapees had a chance to get to safety, and the colonel and his partner had a possibility to flee. If they were caught, they would be shot without any doubt.
He was about to stand up and deliver himself as he saw in horror how Hogan did the same, but was quicker than him. The colonel simply rose and pressed himself against a tree trunk – looking straight at the SS-officer who stopped dead in his tracks.
Schmidt cursed inwardly as he saw a movement and then a black-clad figure that seemed to melt within the darkness of the woods. One closer look was enough, and he recognized Colonel Robert Hogan instantly.
For a long moment, both men only glanced at each other, then Schmidt made a short wave with his hand, covering the gesture with his body. "Duck!" he mouthed towards the American before closing the distance to him, stepping into the bushes. Opening his coat, Schmidt pretended to follow a natural urge, while Hogan cowered half a meter away from him.
"I hope you know what dangerous game you decided to play," Horst whispered; knowing exactly what mission Hogan was fulfilling.
"Not more dangerous than what these men have been through," Hogan murmured.
Schmidt pressed his lips into a thin line for a second before he said softly, "If you want to hide them in camp or smuggle them out with faked documents, make certain that their appearances change. There are existing photos of them, you know, which could give them away."
"Thanks," Hogan answered equally quiet. "From these men and myself."
"Go," Horst ordered beneath his breath, made some clear movements with his arms – as if he would close the zipper of his trousers – and began to turn around. "I'll try to distract the others." He broke through the bushes, making certain that more branches were snapped off to erase all tracks the escapees had left.
"Is something the matter?" the Obersturmbandführer asked as he became aware from where Schmidt came.
The younger man suppressed the urge to grimace while he began to close his coat. "No, I simply had a certain urge." He stepped closer to the driver's cap, where in front of it the trucker stood. The man was anything but healthy: thin, pale, limping and with dark bags beneath his eyes. He had a hard life, no doubt, yet he risked everything to help other men on the flight and was brave enough to support the Underground and Hogan's missions. Schmidt couldn't help himself. He felt respect for the man.
Glancing at the Obersturmbandführer, he said calmly, "Do you have any further questions for the gentleman, or can we…"
"Herr Oberleutnant!" The driver of Schmidt's staff car called, stepping half out of the vehicle. "I received a radio call from the other troop. Some citizens in Hammelburg called the HQ and spoke of some men who are lurking around near the closed Hofbräu trying to break into it."
Schmidt stared at him. Had Hogan staged the whole thing or was it pure coincidence? One case or the other, this call was the chance for a distraction. "Do we have any further details?" he asked, while he headed towards his car.
"No, sir. Only that a few men are involved. If they are the escapees, they maybe are trying to find some food or shelter in the restaurant."
"I see it likewise," the Obersturmbandführer stated sternly. "All men ready, we return to Hammelburg." He looked at Schmidt. "Call for reinforcement."
Horst really grimaced now. "I know the standard procedures in such cases," he gritted out.
The other man glared at him. "You are coming from the Abwehr and are not a trained SS…"
"I didn't get the position of HQ leader for nothing, Herr Obersturmbandführer. Reichsführer Himmler in person signed my promotion and appointment as the leading officer of the Hammelburg Gestapo and SS-Headquarters. I think that says enough."
He climbed into the passenger seat of his car and activated the radio, giving the necessary instruction to catch the burglars. Whoever they were for real, they came as if on cue, and he thanked fate for this little favor.
A minute later, the two SS-vehicles turned and headed back to Hammelburg, leaving a thoughtfully Köster and a half-filled tire.
"That was a close call."
Hogan's voice startled Köster, and groaning, he turned around. "Really, Colonel, you can creep like a cat." He rubbed his chin. "This Schmidt…as he went to the bushes where you hid, I thought he would find you."
Hogan grinned. "Well, we had a short talk with each other, but…"
"What?" Köster stared wide-eyed at him, glanced into the direction where the SS had vanished, then back at Hogan. "This man…is on our side?"
"Let's put it this way; he doesn't agree with what's going on in Germany and what has become of his country. He also is someone for whom the old rules of honor are still counting, and he tries to make the best of it." He smirked. "And besides, he's in love with our camp's secretary and holds a protecting hand over her, our Kommandantur, and over my men and I because should it come to the worst, we can help."
"One hand washes the other one then," Köster grumbled.
Hogan laughed quietly. "Yes, but he didn't blackmail me as he found out about my true identity. He rather asked for support – a nice change compared with the behavior of his colleagues." He looked down and nodded at the foot pump. "Come on, I'll help you with this blasted thing. Then we both can return home."
Köster was indeed grateful for the colonel's offer, yet his words confused him. "I'll drive home okay, but you…"
Hogan had checked the connection between the pump and the tire's valve and glanced up at the older man with a soft smirk. "I know it sounds completely stupid, but Stalag 13 has become a kind of home for me." He rose and began to kick down on the foot pump. "So let's hurry up, and we can both go back to far cozier places than this icy street."
*** HH ***
"There he is!" Newkirk cried.
"Finally. I feared the worst," Carter sighed.
Hogan looked over his shoulder while he climbed down the ladder that led from the tree stub down into the tunnels. "Easy, fellas, I told you I would follow."
"More than a quarter hour ago," Peter grumbled, giving his superior and friend a glare.
"What took you so long?" Carter all but demanded.
Robert had reached the ground and turned around. "Woah, calm down – Mom, Dad. I'm fine."
"Has he come?" LeBeau's voice was thick with a French accent while he jogged through the tunnels towards them, spied Hogan, stopped, and took a deep breath in relief. "Mon Dieu, I thought they got you."
"Guys, I'm okay. I only helped Köster pump air into his flat tire, that's all," Hogan tried to calm his friends' fretting nerves, lifting both hands and grinning at them. He earned some stern glares for it and sighed inwardly. Yes, they were all thick like thieves, but didn't it overdo his friends a little bit? That he wasn't any better was a fact he simply banished from his mind.
"So, everything all right?" He asked. "All escapees here?"
"Kinch and Baker are getting them uniforms," Newkirk nodded. "Afterwards I can take the photos and…"
"We have to change their appearances more drastically," Hogan interrupted him and straightened his black jacket. "When I talked with Schmidt, he told me that photos of the guys has been given to the SS and could identify them." He glanced at Peter and Louis. "Do we still have some hair dye here?"
LeBeau nodded. "Oui. Blond, brown, grey, red…" He shrugged. "We also have some fake moustaches."
"Good. Blond becomes brown, brown becomes blond or red, dark to grey, etc." He headed down the tunnels, the others following him. "How are the men?"
"Exhausted, hungry, confused, but also determined to escape the hell they've been in once and for all," Newkirk informed him. "They don't know what to think of the fact that they're in a POW camp again, though."
"Have you told them that they have to stay here?" Robert wanted to know, and Peter shook his head.
"I thought it be better to leave that to you."
"You're too kind," the colonel said and continued his way, knowing that it would be a long night.
TBC…
Yes, it was a close-call, but many missions of our Heroes were only won because of luck or some help. And the whole thing forced Schmidt to make the ultimate decision. Now he has become more or less an ACTIVE supporter of Hogan and his men, and he knows it. There is really no going back now, but I think he doesn't mind so much.
In the next chapter, Hogan has the nerve-jangling task to deal with the escapees, of which the most are civilians – and as those they 'tick' completely different. Klink worries out of his mind because Hogan doesn't show up and then the Oberkriminalrat shows up in the camp…
I hope, you liked the new chapter and the small but important mission our Heroes had to fulfill. Like Hogan put it: I'm getting slowly rusty. He's a man of action and feels itchy if there is nothing to do for him and his men. On the other hand, almost three years in this 'job' demand more and more its toll…
Like always, I would love to get some reviews.
Have a nice weekend,
Love
Yours Starflight
