Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you so much once again for the big feedback. I'm happy that you loved the last chapters so much and that you're still to so loyal to the story despite its length.

After Hogan was able to bring the escapees to Stalag 13, he is now faced with the big difference between soldiers and civilians. And more, because the men, who escaped M1, are not 'only' POWs, but also people who were separated from the greatest crime ever, yet suffer because of it.

And while Klink realizes that he is the 'Kommandant', okay, but still only a 'patient' in the moment, the escapees' hunters don't give up and come to Stalag 13…

I hope, you're going to like the chapter despite the dark topics which are grazed…

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 76 – Hide and seek again

As Hogan and the others rounded the corner, they heard quiet voices in one of the larger rooms with the equipment for 'new identities'.

Kinchloe, Baker, and four other POWs turned around as they became aware of the nearing footsteps, all of them sighing in relief as their gazes fell on their black-clad, freezing, but very much alive and unharmed CO.

"Thank the Lord."

"There you are."

"Good Lord, Colonel, you had me worrying here." Kinchloe stemmed his hands in his waists and gave him a rebuking glance.

Hogan moaned quietly. "You're the worst bunch of mother hens the whole world has ever seen," he complained.

Rooney began to chuckle with the only other POW among the escapees, an English flyer who went by the name of Johnathan Sheridan. Two other men smiled a bit and had obviously understood the exchange of words, while the rest of the escapees looked questioningly at the American officer, who they only knew was a colonel and had been involved with the Underground to get them to safety.

Rolling his eyes at his friends, Hogan turned his attention finally to the newcomers. "Well, Gentlemen, welcome to Stalag 13 – Willkommen im Stalag 13," he repeated in German. "Who here speaks no German? Und wer von Ihnen spricht kein Englisch (And whom of you speaks no English?)"

Sheridan and Rooney lifted a hand, together with two other men, who looked thin like skeletons, and whose eyes were haunted like Hogan had rarely seen before.

"Corporal Johnathan Sheridan, Colonel. RAF," the British pilot reported, saluting.

"Corporal," Hogan nodded at him. "I already know Sergeant Rooney." Then he glanced at the others. "Who are you, Gentlemen?"

"David Grünberg, from Köln," one of the two Germans said, and Hogan knew instantly why this man had been locked away in a working camp. He was Jewish. The same went for the other gentleman, who introduced himself as Abraham Rosenkranz from Stuttgart. Both men had higher ranking jobs. One in a bank, the other in a company that produced equipment for Mercedes. They had learned English in the gymnasium they attended as children and had needed it for the international business they were involved with for more than twenty years.

Hogan could only shake his head inwardly. There they were: Two highly intelligent, well-schooled, and very experienced men from Germany's economy – imprisoned because of another heritage, religion, and some madmen's insane regards. It was not the first time Robert asked himself, how much mental potential had been knowingly removed – and even killed! – within the Third Reich. Yet it bore some method. Those people of the intelligent elite who weren't on Hitler's side were a danger to him, so he eliminated them instead.

And concerning the Jewish people: The 'bubble-brain' had not only needed a scapegoat for everything that went down the hill within Germany after the Great War, there was also the fact that many Jewish families were in the Higher Society and were rich. Hitler had needed enormous sums to build his Third Reich, including all the surveilling apparatus and a bath full of executive forces to take control of everything and everyone in Germany. And for this he needed money. A lot of money. So he stole it – like any other common thief. Or in his case, like the hold-up murderer he was.

Robert's gaze wandered over the two men in front of him. He could only imagine what hell they had gone through and endured to still be alive.

Clearing his throat, he said to them and the two flyers, "Gentlemen, you don't have to fear anything anymore. You're safe here." His gaze went to the other escapees. "Meine Herren, ich erzähle Ihnen gleich Genaueres. Lassen Sie mich bitte erst mit den Herren hier reden, dann stehe ich Ihnen zur Verfügung. (Gentlemen, I tell you more details in a few minutes. Please let me first talk with these gentlemen here, afterwards I'm there for your disposal)."

The German prisoners seemed to be surprised, but also relieved that he spoke their language. He nodded kindly at them and looked at LeBeau. "Could you prepare us some tea? I think we're all frozen through, and some tea will calm the nerves."

"Oui, mon colonel," the French cook agreed. "And I'll make some bread with topping."

"Why don't you say 'sandwiches'?" Newkirk groaned.

"Because only you English people clap a slice of bread together and squeeze the topping to an unrecognizable something you eat afterwards," LeBeau mocked and hurried away. Those who spoke English were chuckling by now.

Turning his attention back at the four English speaking men, Hogan was addressed by Grünberg, "This is a POW camp," he said quietly, distress echoed in his voice.

"Yes, protected by the Geneva Conventions and its usual Kommandant, who is no Nazi and is on our side," Hogan tried to calm him. "He agreed on this rescue mission and his current substitute made certain that you all have a bed to sleep in. You'll be diversified to different Barracks and melt with the other POWs, and…"

"And when will we leave, Colonel?" Rooney spoke up.

Hogan sighed. "This is the other side of the coin you got. The escape ways to England are closed."

"But…this man from the Underground, Wagner. He told us that you can smuggle us out of Germany," Sheridan interrupted him, shocked.

"Yes, until a few days ago there wouldn't have been many problems to do so. But in the last one and a half days, many things have changed. US and Canadian troops have conquered Cologne and Xanten, and bridges over the Rhine River."

"What?" both flyers cried, beginning to grin.

"Yes, at a few locations the way into the inside of Germany is now accessible. The front runs now along the river, but also in the southwest. The 7th US Army division has already liberated Alsace and Lorraine and is about to cross the German border. Everywhere the Wehrmacht and the Volkssturm are trying to fight them off. 15 and 16 year old boys are recruited by force." The two pilots and two Germans gasped in horror. Hogan grimaced. "Yeah, Hitler seems to hate every living being by now." He took a deep breath. "Given the whole position of the fighting units, we can't use our old escape ways to smuggle you to the coast of the North Sea. We can't do anything more than hide you here in Stalag 13 until the war is over."

"So, we escaped Dachau and M1 only to be stranded in another prisoner camp?" Rosenkranz asked hoarsely.

"Stalag 13 differs a lot from the camps you know – even from other Stalags," Hogan tried to comfort the crestfallen man. "Like I said, the usual Kommandant is on our side and has protected us for years now from despotism of the SS and other bastards. In this camp exists a rather peaceful co-existence. Yes, there are rules to obey, but nothing dramatic. The usual."

"Roll calls, surprise visits…" Sheridan began.

"Yes, but we're warned before surprise visits are taking place. Like I said, the Kommandant is on our side. There are fixed times for showers, meals, lights out, and we are sent to different work details here and there, yet nothing we can't manage. Usually we'll get an extra meal afterwards."

"WHAT?" Rosenkranz stared at him as if he had grown two heads and six arms. The only German speaking men became nervous, then they saw the flabbergasted expression of their fellow prisoner and the amused grin of the American officer, and began to realize that Rosenkranz's outburst was not because of something bad.

"Yes, extra meals – or extra bread – lights on longer in the evening, an additional warm shower… sometimes we even get payed. Well, the German money has lost all its values, so I strike deals concerning the living conditions within this camp with the Kommandant. And concerning him, there is one rule you have to follow, no matter what – one that doesn't belong to German protocol, but is no less strict: No escape attempts."

"Why not?" Sheridan asked, thunderstruck.

"It's a soldier's duty – from private to general," Rooney protested.

"Not in this case," Hogan replied and began to explain. "Kommandant Klink, whose leading style gives his superiors the greys, is still in charge of this camp only because of his zero-record of no escapes. If he fails to keep all prisoners here, his CO will replace him – and then we have a real problem. Not only could we get a real Nazi who tyrannizes us – and we had guys like that already here – but our operation would come to an end. Even if my men and I can't smuggle people out of Germany at the moment, we have another important job: Sabotage and spying. We've built up a very dangerous, yet functioning espionage ring with eyes and ears outside of the camp. If we're revealed, the Underground will not only lose a lot of good people, and my men and I will be shot, but the Brass will lose one of its most important espionage cells that has fed them with hundreds of information. Yes, the Allies are about to win the war, but every kilometer deeper into the enemy's territory bears its own dangers – dangers we partly find out about and warn our boys. I think that's more important than trying to flee."

The four men nodded slowly, then Rooney hesitated.

"This is a POW camp in North Bavaria. You're a high ranking American officer who should be in an Oflag, but stays in a simple Stalag. And you lead an espionage ring." He cocked his head. "There are rumors within our squadrons. A few of our boys were sent in secret to North Bavaria to support a master spy who is a higher ranking US officer. Our boys delivered equipment, medications, even special agents and other needed personnel to him or picked them up, but no one knows the identity of this man. But his codename is an already living legend: Papa Bear."

Hogan began to grin and looked at his friends. "It seems as if the 'Unsung Heroes' got some songs which are sung about them."

Rooney gaped at him, put one and one together, and burst out. "You are Papa Bear?!"

"The one and only," Robert smirked at him. "Welcome to the club."

*** HH ***

It was half past four in the morning as Hogan crept over to the infirmary, still clad in black to melt with the darkness. He reached the building and slipped inside. Switching on a handlamp he covered with his free hand to reduce the light to a semi-dark shine, he tiptoed between the lined-up bed.

Wilson lifted his head and sighed deeply. "Finally. I was worried by now."

Hogan grimaced. "Not you, too," he groaned quietly.

"Just imagine the Kommandant. I fed him some sleeping pills in secret, lying it would be a painkiller. The poor man was beside himself when you didn't show up an hour or later after 2300."

Robert smiled guiltily. "I'm sorry, but most of the guys don't speak English. I had to translate and explain everything a few times. They are civilians, not soldiers. You wouldn't believe the difference in thinking and understanding." He shook his head in sympathy. "Then I had to convince them that they weren't out of the frying pan straight into the next fire – that this here isn't a similar hell hole they escaped from."

"You got them all to safety, sir?" Olsen whispered as sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yes, they're still in the tunnels wrapped up in blankets, ate some sandwiches and had some tea LeBeau made for them, and certainly are sleeping by now. We'll introduce them to their future comrades after morning roll call," Hogan explained, while he stripped off his clothes. Olsen did the same with the colonel's pajamas, and both men switched clothes. Olsen re-cladding in Hogan's black 'spy-outfit' and hid his own uniform in the bag he brought with him.

"Be careful on your way back to the Barracks," the colonel whispered, and Olsen nodded.

"I will. Good night, sir." He went to the door and vanished into the darkness, avoiding the search lights and slipped into the hut a minute later.

Robert watched him through the curtains of the window, then he went to Will. Klink was deep asleep – more or less sedated – but even now Rob could see the tension the older man experienced in his sleep. Bending down, he brushed his lips over Will's.

"I'm here, Wilhelm. Don't fear for me. I'm okay," he murmured, stroking over the pale cheek. He carefully pushed the neighboring bed closer and slipped between the blankets. There was not much time left to catch up on some sleep, and he felt beaten and frozen through.

"Good night, sir," Wilson said softly, and Hogan returned the well-meant wish before the two Americans drifted off in Morpheus' realm.

*** HH ***

"Robert!"

Wilhelm's familiar voice, hoarse from sleep and medicine, pierced Hogan's dreamless, deep sleep and forced his mind to fight the webs of dreamland.

"Will?" he mumbled, barely able to open his eyes. He felt beaten, and his limbs seemed to weigh tons as he turned onto his side towards his lover's voice. First he didn't see much, only some light and something blurred, then his gaze focused, and he recognized the older man's face only half a meter away from him.

Klink looked with utter relief and happiness at him. "Thank the Lord you're here," the Oberst whispered. "I was mad with worry when you didn't show up."

Escapees? Meeting? Of what was Will spea…Oh!

Lifting his head and ignoring the rising headache, he glanced around. Yep, he was in the infirmary beside Will's sickbed, and the lights were switched on. He heard someone shuffling around followed by a clatter and a quiet curse: Wilson.

With a groan, Hogan let himself sink into the bed. It couldn't be morning already. It was impossible. He had lain down to sleep a few minutes ago, hadn't he?

"Are you all right? What about the men? Did they show up? Are they here? Do they need help? How is there con…"

"Will, please." Hogan interrupted with a moan. "Please, I'm anything but awake."

"No wonder. You came back after a half past four," Wilson said, as he left the small bathroom.

Klink looked at his pale and absolutely tired beloved, to the medic. "You," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Wilson. "What did you give me last night?" he demanded. "And don't tell me it was a painkiller. I fell asleep despite the fact that I was sick with worry for this crazy troublemaker to my left."

Wilson smiled innocently at him. "I'm your current doctor, Kommandant. And as such, I have to take care of your well-being. Seeing that Dr. Glockner and Dr. Birkhorn warned me that any stir from you could be bad for your healing process, I did the only thing possible by giving you something to calm down."

"You mean you gave me something to sleep," Klink corrected, scowling at him.

Joe's smile changed into a grin. "You're my patient, Kommandant. I'm responsible for you. So…"

"You lied to me," Wilhelm half groused, half pouted.

"A little white lie. It was only for your best, sir."

"Could you two please argue later?" Hogan's voice sounded like that of a little boy. "Someone's trying to sleep here, you know."

The door to the infirmary opened, and heavy steps drew nearer. "Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

Schultz.

"I don't know. It was too short for it," Robert groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.

The large Bavarian frowned and looked at the long heap on the bed beside his CO. He glanced at Klink, who watched the figure of his lover with a mixture of understanding and frustration, and turned towards Wilson. "Do you know how it went?" he asked quietly.

"The men are here, safe and sound," Joe answered. "For more details you'll have to ask the colonel." A soft snoring was to hear from the American's bed. "When you can wake him up again, I mean."

Schultz grimaced. "He has to appear at roll call and…"

"Well, let's pretend he got a sore throat or an upset stomach. Does that excuse him?" Wilson asked.

"Jesus, Maria, und Josef – you rascals are making me crazy," the Sergeant of the Guards complained, but nodded. Before he left, he glanced one time back. "Will the men join roll call?"

Wilson shook his head. "The colonel mentioned that he'll bring them into the Barracks after morning roll call."

"Very good – some time of grace for me then," Hans grumbled and left.

*** HH ***

Hogan slept 'til nine o'clock, and even then he still felt tired. To interact with civilians was pure stress, how the hours down in the tunnels had proven, but at least they had managed to take the photos and change the men's appearances. Newkirk would add them to the files as soon as possible, then Hogan would complete the camp's file cabinet with them.

Giving Klink a kind of detailed report concerning last night's mission, Will learned that Schmidt knew about Hogan and the Unsung Heroes and about him. For a long moment, the Oberst looked horrified at his American counterpart, then he smiled, but also sighed in relief as Robert told him that the young SS-officer wouldn't give them away.

"He only asked me to take care of Hilda, her parents, and Manfred when the war comes to an end. Especially should the worst case happens – if Hammelburg should be conquered by the Russians."

"What the Lord may prevent," Wilhelm said quietly before he glanced up at the younger man, who sat on his bed's edge. "One of my greatest fears: That not the Americans will reach us first, but the Russians. If that's the case, not only the people in Hammelburg are going to face hell, but my men, too. The few POW camps they already liberated have been torn down, and many officers and guards were shot. Without trial, of course." He took a deep breath. "But before it comes to something like that, I'll open the gates and…"

"You and Schultz are members of the Underground, Will. You are protected by us – you two, Langenscheidt, young Hauser, Kleiber…" Hogan shrugged.

"Do you really think the Russians take consideration of that detail?" Klink shook his head. "I heard from Burkhalter what's going on in the area the Red Army seized. If I imagine that something like that could happen to the town or Stalag 13…" He shuddered.

Hogan realized that this was indeed a topic Klink worried about. He pursed his lips and cocked his head. "Or you could surrender the camp to the United States," he suggested. "Then the Russians can't raise any claim on Stalag 13 or Hammelburg if the town surrenders to the US, too."

Klink glanced up, eyes wide as saucers. "And how shall I do that? Shall I call your president in the White House and say, 'Hello, old boy, this is Oberst Klink from Stalag 13 in Germany. Just regard my camp as yours'?"

Hogan was laughing quietly now, imagining President Roosevelt's face under that circumstance. "I don't think that you would be put through to him at all," he chuckled. "Even if so, I think your way of addressing him would skip the whole procedure." He grinned. "No, there's an easier way. You surrender the camp to the highest ranking POW officer…me. And me being a colonel of the US Army Air Corps, I would rise the colors of the US and claim the camp and area for the States. Then the Russians can be happy if I let them pass through here."

Klink gaped at him. "You would…I could…you think…"

Robert smirked. "Why not? The POWs of this camp would take over Stalag 13 and Hammelburg under my command. We'll rise our colors, and if a Russian should try to get a piece of the cake, there'd be no chance." He turned serious again. "But the Red Army, like our boys, are still far away from here. And if the Vodka lovers gain too much ground, I'll require enforcement from General Butler. Then the claim can be official."

Wilhelm nodded slowly before he replied, "But you've forgotten one detail: The SS. They will never allow that a former POWs simply take over command of the area."

"Then we can call us lucky that our friend Schmidt is in charge of HQ in Hammelburg. Besides the fact that he would do everything to keep Hilda and Little Manfred safe, he is also a rational and clear thinking young man. It's clear that the town will have a better fate under the command of the US than under the Russians." He reached out and lay a hand on Klink's. "But that's still all up in the air. For now the most important thing is that you get well again and we make sure that our twelve newcomers fit into our camp well enough to fool the SS."

Klink sighed. "Don't remind me, or I get belly ache." He grimaced. "But at least those poor bastards are safe, and maybe we have a more calmer time lying ahead."

His wish wouldn't be fulfilled. Rather the opposite, because soon the camp would face its biggest challenge ever.

*** HH ***

In the late morning, Hogan introduced the new 'POWs' to Schultz, who came to Barracks 2 where the newcomers hid by now. Grünberg and Rosenkranz met Schultz with something close to fear until they realized that the large man was kind-hearted and had no problem with their heritage names. Schultz only looked at them, said "Aha," nodded at them, and drove his attention to the next newcomers.

It was obvious how much the men's condition shocked him, and he ordered LeBeau to make a bigger portion of brothel so that not only Klink would have some soup, but 'those poor Hascherl', too (Bavarian for 'little kids'). Then he gave them all a little speech, asked Hogan to make sure that Wilson examined them, and was about to leave the Barracks as Carter's outcry woke everyone's attention.

"Two SS-cars are coming!"

Hogan was a moment later beside him and peeked out of the window. He growled quietly as he recognized the SS-officer from last evening, who left the first car. The other one was driven by the older sergeant – Fuhrmann – and Schmidt stepped out behind him.

"All of you down into the tunnel – runter in den Tunnel!" the colonel ordered the newcomers. "Quick – schnell!" While the men hastily climbed down the 'ladder', Hogan glanced at Schultz, who gulped.

"Whatever may happen, stay calm. Schmidt's on our side, and he'll certainly try everything to cover for us," Robert said quietly.

"They're going into the Kommandantur," Olsen reported, who watched the compound with hawk eyes.

"My cue to leave," Schultz murmured, and left Barracks 2 with quick steps towards the office.

Hogan looked over his shoulder. Rooney was the last to step onto the 'ladder'.

"Stay quiet down there," Newkirk ordered, and closed the entrance, while Hogan flipped a thumb towards his quarters.

"Coffee pot," was all he said.

*** HH ***

Hilda looked up as a knock came at the door and smiled the moment she recognized Schmidt. "Good morning, Herr Oberleutnant," she greeted him formally as she saw that he wasn't alone.

"Good morning, Fräulein Schneider," he replied and felt – despite the whole situation – his heart making a jump. God, how much he loved the young woman. "Is Schultz available?"

"He's making a round in the compound, but…there he is," Hilda said kindly, nodding behind the two men.

"Good morning, Gentlemen," Schultz greeted, feeling his stomach twisting. He always loathed it when the SS was in camp. Schmidt was a nice boy, but one look at his companion and Hans knew that trouble had arrived.

"Sergeant Schultz, may I acquaint you to Obersturmbandführer Reuter from Munich?" Schmidt took the opportunity to introduce the two men. "Herr Reuter, this is Sergeant Schultz, currently Kommandant of Stalag 13."

Reuter glanced the large Bavarian up and down. "A simple sergeant is in charge of a POW camp?" he asked.

"This is the advantage when you're a schooled soldier, Herr Obersturmbandführer," Schultz replied, with surprising sternness. "Military training and years of experiences are not comparable with the training of the police…sorry, I mean the SS, of course. Sometimes a 'simple sergeant' has a higher qualification than a SS-officer of higher rank. And I'm sure you'll agree with me that the qualification is more important than the title of rank."

Schmidt pressed his lips into a thin line to prevent himself from grinning, while the Obersturmbandführer gave the sergeant a stern look.

Reuter cleared his throat. "We're here because we're in search of twelve men who were able to flee from a working camp near Munich."

Schultz went to his office and waved at the two men to follow him. "They escaped from a Luft Stalag?" he asked, feigning stupidity while he offered his visitors seats.

"No, from a camp that is led by the Totenkopf-SS," Reuter answered, sitting down on one of the two visitor chairs. "But…"

Schultz whistled. "And there I thought the Totenkopf-SS is so tough. Yet they let twelve prisoners escape in one go, while our camp has never had a successful attempt of escape." He shook his head. "So sad."

Reuter gritted his teeth. "Because of an unlucky incident. A burning US-aircraft fell on the camp and during the erupting chaos, these men were able to escape. An English POW, the American flyer, and the rest are scum who are unworthy to be called Germans at all. Four political prisoners, two star wearers, four…"

Schultz lifted a hand. "One moment. This story sounds awful familiar. Is there the tiniest chance that you're searching for escapees from M1 where the former Major Hochstetter also fled, only to be smuggled into our camp where he tried to kill the Kommandant?"

The Obersturmbandführer crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Correct," he said coolly. "I already heard of the whole unfortunate circumstances which led to your superior officer's grave injury." He glanced at Schmidt, who nodded. "Coming back to the escapees, I have to find them and arrest them again. They were seen in Schweinfurt two days ago, and we assume that they're still in this area."

Nodding slowly, Hans frowned while he finally sat down behind the desk. "And why are you here now? Do you think they're hiding in our camp, or what?"

"Maybe," the SS-staff officer replied wryly.

A short laughter escaped Schultz, while his mind seemed to heighten its potential a dozen times over. "They gave up their gained freedom only to make the holidays here? I didn't know that our camp has such a famous reputation that prisoners risk health and life to escape their own camp only to live in ours by their own free will."

Reuter stared at him. "This situation is too serious to mock about it, Sergeant."

"Serious?" Schultz snorted, turning severe again. "The situation at our borders is serious. Fifteen years old boys are being sent into battle is a serious situation. The Allies being able to conquer towns along the Rhine is a serious situation. Twelve half-starved men on the flight is no serious situation. Trouble, maybe, but not more."

"You have an odd point of view concerning prisoners, Sergeant," the Obersturmbandführer sneered.

"I'm a realist, and compared with what is going on at the different fronts, the flight of a handful men is laughable. You said yourself that only members of the Allies – meaning opponent soldiers – are among them. The others are civilians. What can they do? Hide somewhere and hope to return home one day, that's all. If trained soldiers and officers were on the flight, it could mean a 'serious problem', because they know how to fight, but civilians?" He shook his head. "I think the SS has more important things to do than hunt a few men who are no threat for our land."

"No threat?" Reuter seemed to distrust his own ears. "They are against our beloved Führer and star wearers among them, too. They are…"

"I think our regime is strong enough to fear not the different opinion of a few men. Or do you really think that our Reichskanzler is a weakling who has to be protected against a dozen prisoners?" He shook his head. "Our Führer is a strong man who has nothing to fear, so don't play his glorious might down by handling him like a little boy. He deserves our trust in his power and his genius, not our worry because of a handful men who are barely able to handle themselves are walking through Southern Germany. It's an offense against the Führer."

Schultz crossed inwardly his fingers, because the whole 'glory' he just said about the country's leader was the straight opposite of what he thought for real. It was one big lie, but it had the effect he had wished for. The rebuke and his 'unshaking trust' into the regime calmed and enraged the Obersturmbandführer parallel. To disregard the importance of re-capturing the escapees was scandalizing. On the other hand, the sergeant displayed such a strong trust and devotion towards the Führer there was no doubt concerning his loyalty.

Soldiers. They really ticked different than the pol…SS. Dammit, now he used the old name, too. He cleared his throat again. "Sergeant, as silly as it sounds, to hide in another POW camp is maybe the only expedient for people on the flight. Have you made a roll call this morning?"

Schultz gaped at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Roll call – it means that all prisoners…"

"Herr Obersturmbandführer, there has never been one day at which we don't make two or three roll calls," Schultz interrupted him indignantly. "Today was not an exception. All POWs are present. Not one is missing, and not one is too much – not to speak of twelve more men."

"I didn't want to offend you," Reuter said, and lifted a hand, seeing that the large sergeant was really angry now. "I only want to dispel any chance of those men hiding where they shouldn't be. So…"

Schultz rose and opened the window, leaning out of it. He took a deep breath, and a dozen guards and more almost leaped into the air because of a booming, "LAAAANGENSCHEEEEIIIIDDTTT!"

Reuter flinched, and his eyes widened. Sweet Lord, this man had a loud voice.

Schmidt fought a smirk that tugged at his mouth. He was convinced that Schultz knew about the men's presence in the camp – that he belonged to Hogan's and Klink's circle. But the older man played his part perfectly. Hell, he had never thought that Schultz had such good acting skills. He was even fooling a well-trained man like Reuter.

Karl came running and stopped in front of the window. "Yes, Herr Kommandant?" He said, saluting with a snap.

"Roll call – only for the Obersturmbandführer. All POWs have to line up within two minutes."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Langenscheidt nodded, saluted again, and turned around to give the necessary orders.

"Gentlemen, please follow me," Schultz all but commanded and left the office together with the two SS-officers. Schmidt winked at Hilda, who blushed.

Outside, the first of POWs were shooed out of their Barracks, grousing and complaining about the cold winter weather and being forced to leave the warm shelters.

"What's the matter, Schultz? Why another roll call shortly after the first one?"

Hogan.

Hans sighed inwardly. He simply knew that the American had listened to everything that had been said in in the office and made a big show now. He only hoped Hogan wouldn't overdo it.

"I have my reasons, Colonel Hogan. And it's Sergeant Schultz for you!" he snapped, giving the younger man a stern glance.

Reuter frowned. "Who is this?"

"Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW officer of our camp," Schultz said brusquely. "Don't heed him. He is the typical brash American. But at least he is a decent man."

The other POWs lined up, and the corporals counted them. Ten minutes later, they reported that all prisoners were present.

"Satisfied?" Schultz asked, and Reuter pursed his lips.

"With your permission, I want to have a closer look at the men," he said.

Schultz shrugged. "Be my guest. But no interrogation. Only when a Luftwaffe-officer is present can a POW be questioned."

The Obersturmbandführer rolled his eyes, mumbled something of 'velvet gloves', and went to the POWs to look around.

Hogan watched him from the edges of his eyes, while he closed the distance to Schultz and Schmidt.

"Morning," he murmured into Horst's direction.

"Morning," Schmidt replied. "Sleep well?"

"Short, but intense," the colonel deadpanned. "Did you catch the burglars?"

"I would have bet my last shirt that this call was staged by you, but it turned out that there were indeed people who shouldn't be in a closed restaurant," the Oberleutnant sighed.

Schultz stared at both of them. Of what, for God's sake, were they talking about?

"You see, it's not always me who makes things hum," Hogan joked.

"Yet you kept my men and I very busy late last night."

Schultz gasped quietly, looked at Schmidt, and then at Hogan horrified, which made Robert grimace. "Don't fret, Schultz. Our young friend here knows about us."

"He knows…" Hans squeaked.

"Black is definitely your color, Colonel," Schmidt pulled Hogan's leg. "But you should take lessons for a good make-up. The rouge you wore was too dark and very wide smeared."

Hogan grinned at him, chuckling. "It served the purpose. That was all that counted."

Hans realized that Schmidt must have met Hogan during the mission yesterday evening and closed his eyes while feeling dizzy. "You really cost me my last nerves, Colonel Hogan," He whispered.

"Just ask how my nerves are by now," Robert smirked.

"You? You have no nerves, but ropes of steel," the large Bavarian commented wryly.

"A necessity in his job," Horst deadpanned.

"Don't remind me," Schultz whined. He turned his full attention to Schmidt. "You know of him being…well…not always the good POW who plays along, but…"

"… but is in truth one of the most wanted men within Germany?" The young man chuckled softly. "Yes. And I think he did the right thing as he helped those men to find safe shelter – exactly like I agreed with your decision in Berlin as you let the two Jewish boys escape and even gave them a tip on how to vanish."

Robert looked with big eyes at Hans. "You did…Wow, I knew you had a knight in you, Schultzie."

The large Bavarian shrugged. "They were half-grown teens and had sought shelter in the metro station during the air raid – something that is forbidden for them, which I never have and will understand. I saw how they hid the yellow star beneath stolen coats, which were far too big for them and…well, I sent them away. Then I turned around, and our young friend here had watched me." He glanced at Schmidt. "The moment you simply gave me a nod and kept silent, I knew that you belong to those people who don't close their eyes to the sad truth that our country is poisoned by the sick regards of a few men."

Schmidt sighed. "You took a great risk in that moment – just like you had done half an hour earlier as you saved the little girl. I know when I face a decent, brave man, and despite your obvious role in this crazy and dangerous game, you are exactly that." He had to smile as he saw Schultz flushing.

Hogan crossed his arms in front of his chest. "If it wouldn't be for Hilda and Manfred, would you have stayed silent about my men and me?" he addressed Schmidt curiously.

Horst grimaced. Only yesterday he had thought that he would never support Hogan actively, but the few hours together with Reuter had shown him how wrong everything was by now. The Obersturmbandführer's almost sick eagerness to catch the escapees and 'teach them a lesson' had appalled him.

"Call me a traitor, but – yes. This land is a twisted, dark mirror of what it once was, and it gets worse from day to day," he admitted softly. "We have to stop this insanity, and therefore you have my support – as long as you don't do any real crimes like unnecessary killings, cruelness, etc." He glanced at the American. "But I think that risk is practically zero."

"You have my word." Hogan nodded.

"Careful, the idiot is coming." Hans whispered.

Reuter was done with his inspection and returned towards the other men. He gave Hogan a short glare before he turned his attention to Schultz. "I saw no one who resembles one of the escapees. They're not here."

"Told you so," Schultz replied firmly.

"I'll drive towards the Hessian border. Maybe they'll try to reach Fulda," the Obersturmbandführer addressed Schmidt.

"Good luck, sir," Horst replied coolly, and watched Reuter go after he nodded at Schultz and ignoring Hogan like before.

"What a polite fella," Robert sighed, glad as the SS-officer manned his car and drove away. His gaze found Fuhrmann, who stood by Schmidt's car and watched everything with a neutral expression.

"Gentlemen, that would be all," Schultz turned towards the POWs. "Dismissed."

Grumbling, griping and grousing, the men returned to their Barracks except for Hogan, who remained with Schultz and Schmidt.

The latter glanced straight at him. "The men are here?"

"Safe and sound – thanks to you," Robert replied.

"Their appearances?"

"Are altered," the colonel nodded. "What about those burglars you were called for?"

Schmidt snorted. "A handful of teens who thought it to be a big adventure to 'storm' a closed restaurant. It gave a few stern talks with them and their mothers, and today they have to bring everything into order within the 'Hofbräu' after school." He glanced into the direction in which Reuter had departed. "He wanted to arrest them, but – hell – twelve and thirteen year old boys are pranksters; not insane criminals. He told them they should train with a gun to protect our Fatherland instead of playing games." He shook his head. "I hope he put no bugs into their ears."

"Me too," Schultz replied quietly. "Children should play, not master real fights. When they learn how serious a battle is, it's too late for them."

Schmidt heard the tensed tone in the other man's voice and cocked his head. "Something the matter?"

Hans took a deep breath. "My youngest son was summoned last Tuesday. He is fifteen, born in 1929. You know the newest order…" He lowered his head.

"I'm sorry," Schmidt said in real sympathy. "I hope he returns home healthy."

"Thank you," Schultz sighed. He glanced at Hogan, who gave him a short nod. He was ready to take action as soon as he knew where the boy was being sent off to.

But this would be his smallest problem soon.

TBC…

Thank the Lord for Schmidt's tolerance and rising loyalty towards Klink/Hogan/Allies… Otherwise the whole thing could have led to a catastrophe.

I know, this chapter comes almost identically with the 75th International Holocaust Remembrance Day. There are no words within ANY human language which can voice how deeply ashamed I'm that my people looked away or didn't dare to intervene as there was still time to do something against the crimes which unfolded under our noses. And I won't stop to call those monsters out who put our Jewish fellow-people under inhuman torment, never-ending fright, paining mourning and unbelievingly suffering. What happened to our country-fellows, only because they were of different heritage, was a sin. And not only to them, but also for all those who fell prey to the Nazi's sick regards – gypsies, people of love for the same gender, Polish people, Russian POWs, and so on.

It is difficult to write about the whole horror without offend someone or to step to close at someone's toes (like we say), and I hope, my attempt not remind of the darkest parts of the war inside of Europe, but also to keep up a little bit of the 'Heroe's' is all right.

I chose to involve two Jewish men into the story not only to remember the crimes my people did – knowingly or unknowingly – but also to show that not ALL of my grand-grand-parents and grandparents were alike. Schmidt and Schultz already showed their own regards after the air-raid of Berlin, Klink has a similar opinion (of which you will read later), and Hogan – as a man of the involved but still third party – realizes several things others are going to need decades for.

I hope, despite the very emotional and delicate topic, you liked the this part of the chapter. By the way, one of the two Jewish men I wrote into the story, has the name of my main-teacher of the business-college I went to, and I chose this name on full purpose. Everyone in our class loved him, because he was able to keep up our interest in the themes, had always an open ear for our problems (as teens), and was more a friend than a teacher. I still think fondly of him, and with 'using' his family-name I wanted to give him a new status, in all respect.

In the next chapter, Schultz learns to where is youngest son was sent, and Hogan has to take some actions – less than hoped for, but to cite an old saying: There, where is a will, a path will be found. Then Klink can be moved to his quarters, and (of course) Robert will not leave him alone, and so the two 'boys' have their little home back. And then the big 'bang' happens. New chaos and trouble is approaching the camp, and this time it will bring everyone to his/her limits…

I would be glad if you would share your thoughts about this chapter.

Have a nice rest of the week,

Love

Yours Starflight