Hi my dear readers,
Like always, a big thank you for the feedback. I know, the storyline holds some darker parts now, but the war was most insane as it neared its end.
And our love-birds and Heroes have to face this madness now, too.
In the new chapter, you're going to meet the new characters of Camp 64. Just like I already pointed out, they are no real persons, because my respect for those men is too high than using their suffering for a fiction. Yet I hope, you're going to like them, because they're going to be a special addition for our friends.
Furthermore, Burkhalter finds his hidden, yet existing humanity again, and begins to realize that any showed single compassion is the only way to prevent a new crime from happening. And of all people, it's Schultz who makes him think a little bit honorable again.
In the meantime, Hogan and the others try everything to prepare Stalag 13 for the newcomers. Schmidt is taken into the boat, too, and he begins to understand that the friendship between Hogan and Klink seems to be more…
Until later,
Love
Yours Starfight
Chapter 79 – Brutal truth
Albert Burkhalter sat together with a few other generals in one of the small meeting rooms in the Führerbunker and listened only with an ear to the talks. His mind drifted over and over again back to the telephone talk with Schultz.
The usually so naïve and uncertain sergeant had shown a backbone the general still had yet to stomach. He remembered the short time Schultz had been trained to take charge of Stalag 13, and he had shown promising beginnings at first. But in the end, Burkhalter had realized that this kind of responsibility was nothing for the man.
Schultz led the camp for more than a week, and nothing serious happened – certainly thanks to Hogan. Burkhalter was not blind to the fact that the American held a key role within the camp. But to shelter approximately 1000 more POWs within a few days would overstep the mark. Yet the general saw no chance to change the current situation; especially concerning the leadership of Stalag 13. There were no officers left that could be transferred from the battlegrounds to a POW camp and take over command. And concerning the new prisoners – there was no other place he could send them to but Stalag 13. Dachau was indeed out of the question. It would mean that the men would have to walk two or three weeks more.
He had had a heated discussion with Himmler concerning the way the prisoners of the camps, which were about to be conquered by the Allies, were 'transferred'. The general didn't need any numbers to know that many of the men hadn't and wouldn't make it. The winter was hard and merciless, the routes were long, and the nourishment was too little to give weaker men a chance. Only the strongest ones would survive – independent if it were political prisoners, people of 'lower' heritage, or POWs. Himmler didn't care for the differences anymore. The POWs shouldn't be liberated, because the Reichsführer feared they would commit to duty again, enforcing the already mighty troops of the Allies. Therefore, he suspended most parts of the Geneva Conventions and sent the men on death walks, how it would be called later.
Schultz's voice still rang in Burkhalter's ears. '…if I were you, Herr General, I would start praying that maybe the Lord will forgive you someday, because the West Allies will not…'
The large Bavarian was right. Those, who were responsible for the inhumane handling of prisoners would face trial and the hangman. Yes, Himmler had given the order, but he – Albert Burkhalter – was responsible for the Luft-Stalags. And should his 'dear friend's' order go for those camps too, the general would be placed between two chairs. It were two pairs of shoes if he ordered a rocket test in a Luft-Stalag or would send most POWs to certain death. The latter was unthinkable for him. He always had made sure that at least the men were safe. But now…He took a deep breath, blending out the arguments hurled back and forth between the other staff officers around him.
He didn't need much of a fantasy to imagine how the former occupants of Camp 64 were doing by now. The word 'miserable' didn't even graze the reality. Almost seven weeks through snow and ice…the men had to be utterly exhausted and almost famished. He didn't even want to think of the number who had fallen prey to the walk.
'Whatsoever you do to one of least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do to me…'
Dammit, Schultz and his benevolence. It was no wonder that he remained a noncom and wasn't promoted within the last few years, despite the war and need for higher ranking men. A too kind spirit. The same went for Klink. The Oberst could boast about his 'iron fist' and 'toughness' all he wanted, but Burkhalter knew that the Saxonian had a soft heart. He knew him too long to fall for his patters.
On the other hand, this was the key to both men's success in Stalag 13 – the reason why this camp was the only one that functioned. The almost peaceful co-existence between guards and POWs, the ability to cooperate if it came to the worst…the solution was acceptance and respect. The roots of humanity.
The same humanity that had moved Schultz to accept the challenge to take in the men of Camp 64 despite the lack of preparation. He had done it for charity's sake and shown a strength Burkhalter could only admire.
'Whatsoever you do to one of least of these, my brothers and sisters, you do to me…'
Every day these men had to walk was a day more at which the Grim Reaper decimated their number – taking one by one with him. 'It bears the stamp of Satan…' Schultz was right. What happened here was not only inhumane anymore, but it was demonic.
"Air raid over Dortmund," an intelligence officer said, interrupting Burkhalter's thoughts. "The Allies are attacking with more than 1000 aircrafts over Dortmund."
Curses and shouts erupted. The only one who remained silent was Burkhalter. 'They show no mercy – understandable. After all, we show no mercy to their comrades, too. This is an endless cycle of violence, and if we don't break this cycle soon, we all are doomed. Not only the men and boys who are still fighting a lost war, but also every woman and child within this land.'
He rose. He knew that Hitler, Himmler, and Goebbels regarded any kind of mercy as weakness, but not so Burkhalter. He had seen within the last few weeks where this path could lead. And he would be a fool to follow this path any longer. 'And if I were you, Herr General, I would start praying that maybe the Lord will forgive you someday…'
Maybe it was too late to gain the Lord's forgiveness, but it was not too late to save the men still living from Camp 64. That was all up to him.
Determined, he put on his cap and slipped into his coat. One of the other staff officers saw it and addressed him. "Where are you going, Albert?"
"The air raid demands my return to my office. Luft-Stalag 6 is near Dortmund, and I might have to take action. Excuse me." He tipped at his temple in a casual salute, of which he didn't realize resembled Hogan's flippy way of military greetings, and left the room.
He went through the small hallways of the Führerbunker, bypassed chambers and small meeting points. He knew this labyrinth down very well by now, yet he couldn't get used to the stuffy, smelly air, the everlasting dampness, and creeping coldness despite the heaters. He heard voices from radio stations and the clicking of writing machines, guards and other personnel crossed his way, yet there was an eerie silence. The background lacked of the usual sound, because the soil swallowed everything that could come from the outside.
He climbed up the many stairs and left the bunker through the mostly ruined Reichskanzlei. His steps echoed from the walls, blackened with smoke; grit, splinters, and ash crunched beneath his boots. He knew that Hitler's private flat as well as the private rooms of his lover Eva Braun on the first floor were uninhabitable, and he felt a short wave of satisfaction that not only he had lost his home, but also the man who started the war.
He was glad as he finally reached the former main entrance and stepped into the Wilhelmstraße. For a moment he took several deep breaths, while his gaze wandered over the houses around him. Not a single one of them was habitable anymore. Through the burned out windows and destroyed roofs, he could see the sky. An icy wind blew through the street and along the house walls driving ashes, dust, and dirt. It was unusually quiet. The common noises of a large town had decreased during the last week more and more.
A guard left the destroyed building behind him and saluted. "Herr General, do you need your driver?" he asked politely.
Burkhalter hesitated. Usually he would have driven by car to his office, despite the fact that it was only a few hundred meters away. But not now. He needed fresh air – at least, what you could call 'fresh air' in a mostly burned down city.
Another icy gust of wind tore at his coat and forced him to hold his cap down onto his head. Was this what the men of Camp 64 had to experience day by day for weeks now? No, they endured worse. And yet, this moment showed him to what those POWs had been dammed. They, and every other prisoner who slogged down roads through this relentless winter.
"No, thank you. I'll walk," he replied, nodded at the young man, and headed down the road. A few minutes later he wished he had chosen his car, but there was no going back now – not without losing his face. He began to really grasp what those men were going through. As he finally reached the Ministry of Defense – or what was still standing of it – he was frozen through. His eyes watered from the sharp wind, his hands were stiff because he had forgotten to take his gloves with him, and his toes pained because the polished leather boots were no real protection against the bitter cold. Shivering like a puppy, he entered the building and knew what he had to do.
*** HH *** HH ***
Weathered and leaking shoes and boots were dragged through ankle deep snow. White fog danced in front of red noses and dry, splintered lips. Snow and ice crystals stuck in beards, which hadn't been trimmed or shaved for weeks. Red, stiff fingers clung to poor excuses of blankets, which were drawn around slouched, boney shoulders. Red, teary eyes blinked into the semi-darkness of the wood through which the street went, almost unable to see anything in the white hell.
Hundreds of drained men staggered down the road; resigned, tired, hungry, and with unfeeling feet and hands. Almost robbed of any last hope. In the morning, they had lost two more comrades. They simply hadn't woken up again, and they hadn't even had the chance to bury them. They were left behind like dead animals despite the protests that had risen. Their guards knew no understanding, no pity – they barely showed any emotions at all. They were like living majorettes without a soul.
"If we don't reach this damn camp soon, we'll all die." The hoarse, quiet voice belonged to an older man, who walked at the head of the long column that was flanked by the guards in SS grey, the black collars showing the dreaded skull and crossed bones – the insignia of the Totenkopf SS.
His words were meant for a man in his middle thirties wearing US brown and the rank of a lieutenant colonel. His brown hair was too long, his green eyes had sunken into his head, and a full beard offered at least some protection for his throat.
"Four or five days, they said this morning. We'll make it, Brady," the officer whispered, ignoring the burning pain in his feet. At least it showed him that his feet hadn't died off. "We've made it so far, we can endure the rest."
The older man, Brady Elison, who wore the uniform of a staff sergeant of the infantry, nodded slowly. "I hope so, Ryan. There are a few whom I really worry for. They'll be the next ones we have to leave behind."
Ryan Connor glared at the car that drove in front of him and carried the CO of their guards, SS-Major Artur Hartmann. "I rather order those men to be carried than allow this damn swine over there to shoot one more of us!" He glanced at his companion and earned a gaze full of understanding.
Yes, there were a lot of officers who held a higher rank than Elison, but Connor knew the older man his whole life. Even if he would have wished that Brady would have never been captured with him, he was grateful that his godfather was at his side the whole time.
Suddenly, the car in front of them stopped, and so did the POWs. Major Hartmann stepped out of the car and called with a sharp voice for one of his leading guards. He sent nasty glares into Connor and Elison's direction, exchanged a few more words with his men, and finally closed the distance to the POWs.
"You're a damn lucky bastard, Connor," he said, ignoring protocol that demanded to address even opponent officers correctly. "I got a radio call from Berlin. The responsible staff officer for the Luft-Stalags wants to play Samaritan and ordered for a train wait for us near Coburg. It takes us to Schweinfurt and from there to your new home in Hammelburg. We have to leave the train at the open railway, because the station in Hammelburg is still out of commission. But I'm sure you'll be able to walk the last few kilometers." He let his gaze wander over the POW officers behind the lieutenant colonel, eyes full of disgust. "This will spare me three or four days of bearing the dirty presence of all of you."
"If we wouldn't be herded like animals, we could have washed and taken care of our appearance," Connor taunted. "It would have spared your tender mind – and us losses because of spotted fever."
"You forgot, Connor, you are nothing more than filth – washed or unwashed." Hartmann turned around. "Come! The sooner we're in Coburg, the sooner we can finish this damn job."
"I could kill this bastard," Elison whispered. "If I get the chance, I'll send this swine to Hell."
"He will have to wait in front of Hell's gates, because there is already a very long line of other Krauts Satan has to take in," Ryan answered, feeling how his hate and determination to reach the damn Luftwaffe camp gave him strength. He had to hold on – for his men and for himself. "At least we can travel part of the trip by train now. Whoever this staff officer in Berlin is I could kiss him. Every day we lost men within the last few weeks. Going by train will save a few lives." He tried to moisten his dry lips. "I look forward of reaching the end of this cursed journey."
Pressing his lips into a thin line, he forced his legs to walk again – meter by meter towards their destination. At least the prospect of travelling part of the last stage by train gave him some hope that he wouldn't lose any more men until they reached Stalag 13. One last night in the open, and hopefully their martyrium would end.
*** HH *** HH ***
"Good God, what's the meaning of all of this?" Schmidt pushed himself through the crowd of POWs unloading the trucks and bringing wooden planks, boxes, and rolls of roofing paper to the other side of camp. He had spotted Hogan, who gave orders to everyone, and finally reached the colonel.
"Finally," Hogan said, as he recognized the younger man "We called you almost two hours ago."
"You called me," Schmidt corrected and snorted. "An American officer calls the CO of the local Gestapo and asks him to come over to his POW camp. Hammelburg is the craziest town ever." He shook his head in suppressed amusement before turning serious again. Schultz's voice boomed through the air, giving orders to put 'these blasted rolls more to the right.' "What's going on here?"
"We're getting more POWs," Hogan said, and shoved his crush cap into his neck. "About 1000."
"What?"
"And they're coming within the next four or five days, according to Burkhalter." Robert grimaced. "The best is, this bastard of an interims Kommandant had the whole plans and orders in his luggage, but never showed up. We only learned about the additions of more prisoners, because those trucks appeared on our door step. We lost a week's worth of work like this."
Thunderstruck, Schmidt stared at him before looking around. Yes, there was some order in the chaos, yet one thing was clear: Never would the camp be ready to take in so many POWs within four or five days. The material was for Barracks – a lot of Barracks. It would cost time to build them, not to speak of the installation of water and power supply.
"Four or five days, you said?" he asked, and Hogan nodded grimly before taking a deep breath.
"CARTER!" The colonel shouted towards the motor pool. "BE CAREFUL WITH THOSE BARRELS, WILL YOU? WE HAVE TO ENLARGE THE CAMP, NOT BLOW IT UP!"
Andrew saluted and continued to roll the barrels away with a few other men.
Horst had regained some composure, and he began to realize why Hogan had called him. "What do you need?" he asked bluntly.
Robert glanced at him with a short, small smile. "I love to work with quick thinking people." He sighed. "We need a new generator. Our old one is about to break down for good, the electricity company in Hammelburg sees no chance to supply us with more power, and we're going to need a lot more electricity not only for the new Barracks, but also for the motor pool that will functioning as our mess hall for now. The won space in our Barracks will be used to accommodate as much newcomers as possible. The rest of them will be put in the infirmary, casino, rec hall, and officers' mess."
Schmidt whistled. "Quite a plan you schemed here, Colonel. How do you want to secure the motor pool?"
"We build a roof on it, put two or three ovens in it and provide it with lamps and some sinks. That's the next topic. We're in need for water pipes – and many other supplies.
"I thought so," Schmidt sighed. "Let me guess, further nourishment, washing utensils, spare clothes, etc."
The American officer turned towards the Oberleutnant. "I have no clue if our comrades could even take a spare socking or a toothbrush with them when they evacuated Camp 64. They certainly have nothing else left than what they're wearing, and they've been on the walk for more than seven weeks now."
"Seven weeks? On the walk?...Death walks," he whispered. "I heard rumors, but…" He closed his eyes. "Dear God."
"On order from your highest ranking employer, Himmler. The distance between Camp 64 and Hammelburg is approximately 650 km and…"
Schmidt opened his eyes again and seemed to burn all of sudden. He set his jaw in determination. "You'll need medications, bandages, blankets, and dishes. Fresh water, stage food, vegetables, and easily digestible food. And, of course, technical equipment." He gritted his teeth in frustration. "No easy task, but I'll see what I can do to help these poor bastards."
"We also need power wires, grit for the Barracks' foundations, and bedclothes. Stock beds and field beds, as well as bedding, ovens, and sinks, are on the way, but that's not all. We also need soap, bowls, and shaving foam. The men will look like Rasputin, I'm sure of it," Robert sighed.
Stemming his fists on his hips, Schmidt stared at nothing. "This is quite the challenge. We already have to stem the many refugees we got within the last two weeks. The post office and Agrarian School were converted into a refugee hostel, and we're about to do the same to the school, which means no teaching for the children anymore. We're already running out of spare clothes, blankets, and makeshift beds, but…" He sighed again. "Somehow it has to work."
Hogan rubbed his neck. "Hilda also contacted the sawmill. They're going to lend us axes and saws so that we can…"
Something cracked loudly through the air from afar, followed by a thumb and cheers. Schmidt stepped on the tip of his toes to look over the many heads towards the south, but saw nothing. "What the heck?"
Hogan grinned for a moment. "Looks like our wood workers had the first success." He caught the Oberleutnant's asking glance and explained. "We have to expand the camp in the south. More than two hundred of our men are there to clear up the woods. As soon as we get more axes and saws in the afternoon, the more we'll be able to do."
Schmidt tensed. "Stalag 13 doesn't have enough guards to watch this many large working groups – in confusing area no less. What if…"
Lifting a hand, Robert interrupted him. "I informed all POWs over an hour ago during an interims roll call about the news. I asked them not to make any attempt of escaping while clearing the woods, because everyone is needed now to get some preparations done until our comrades of Camp 64 arrive. All of the men, without exception, lifted their hand as an oath not to flee, and I trust them."
With something close to admiration, Horst looked the colonel straight in the eyes. "You enthralled them by appealing to their sympathy and comradeship. Something like that could only be done by you, Hogan. You're…unbelievable."
Robert shrugged. "Comradeship is the root of survival when you're far away from home. We have the big luck that Klink is a fair and decent man. Our comrades of Camp 64 certainly weren't that lucky with their Kommandant – or their current guards."
"Colonel Hogan!" Langenscheidt hurried towards them and stopped breathlessly beside him. "Do you know where I can find Sergeant Schultz? I have General Burkhalter on the line and…"
"Just the man I have to talk to," Hogan interrupted him. "Schultz is somewhere at the other side of camp, so don't bother to get him. Put the general through to Klink's in a minute. I'm on my way." He began to jog towards the north area of the camp where the Kommandantur, Klink's quarters, and the main gate were. "Are the lists made of the things we're going to need within the next two days?" he asked, while Karl and Schmidt accompanied him.
"Yes, they were already brought to Oberst Klink."
"Is the Oberst doing better?" Horst wanted to know.
"He's been in his own quarters again since Friday evening, but he has to stay in bed," Langenscheidt informed him.
"Yes, and if he tries to rise without permission again within the next few days, I'll tie him down," Hogan growled.
Schmidt couldn't help himself. He had to laugh. He had a good idea what elicited the American officer's reaction: Klink had left bed, and Hogan had half a heart attack because of it. Those two were more than close. Horst began to harbor his own thoughts about the two men's true relationship.
They needed more than a minute to reach Klink's quarters. Langenscheidt had separated from them and raced to the Kommandantur to link Burkhalter to the separate, little building. The telephone was already ringing as Hogan and Schmidt reached Klink's living area.
Out of breath, Hogan lifted the receiver. "Langenscheidt?" He asked.
"No, it's General Burkhalter. Hogan, may I ask what you're doing on the line when I want to speak with Schu…"
"Schultz is on the other side of the camp, General. My men have started to clear out the woods," Robert interrupted him, still trying to catch his breath. "General, we have some serious problems here. Hopefully you can solve them."
"I have the lists of everything we need here!" Wilhelm's voice shouted from the bedroom.
"Is that Klink?" Burkhalter sounded half surprised, half hopeful.
"Yes, he is in his own quarters now," Robert informed him. "But…"
"Even if you don't speak with me for the rest of the week, Hogan, I have to rise and talk with General Burkhalter. No matter what," Klink's yell sounded through the open door.
Hogan groaned. "One day he's gonna kill me with his stubbornness."
"This is the pot calling the kettle back," Burkhalter deadpanned, obviously amused.
"Wait here. I'll get him," Schmidt offered and hastened to the sleeping room, where Klink had already sat up and was about to pull the blankets aside.
"Schmidt. Finally, young friend," Will greeted him.
"Herr Oberst, it's good to see that you're doing better," he addressed Klink. "And we all want that to remain that way." He bent over the older man and helped him onto his feet, laying one of Klink's arms around his shoulder, while he wrapped his arm around the far too thin waist. "Be careful, Herr Oberst," he said quietly. "We don't want you to relapse."
Carefully, step by step, he led Will out of the bedroom. Hogan stood at the commode and watched him with hawk eyes. "One moment, General, this weirdo thought it's a good idea to rise and come to the living room." He didn't understand Burkhalter's answer as he put the receiver beside the phone, quickly got a chair, and placed it in front of the dresser. Klink sat down and groaned softly.
"Get his comforter, please," Hogan said to Schmidt, who nodded and hurried back to the sleeping room, returning with the thick blanket a few moments later.
"Robert, really, I'm okay," Will sighed, as his beloved covered him with the woolen material.
"You're up for the second time today – far too early, may I add," Hogan replied sternly.
"I have to speak with General Burkhalter, so would you please be so nice and give me the receiver? Afterwards I need the lists from my nightstand, please."
With a frustrated glare, Hogan offered him the receiver and went to the bedroom to get the lists.
"General Burkhalter?" Will asked.
"Klink. I never thought I would say this, but I'm glad to hear your voice. How are you?" There sounded real relief and something close to joy in the Austrian's voice.
"I'm doing better, thank you, Herr General."
"Yet you have to stay in bed – doctor's orders," Hogan spoke up, pointing a finger at him before he offered him the sheets of paper.
"You hear that, Herr General? I'm in need for rescue," Wilhelm sighed. "These mother hens around here are making me crazy!" He glared at Hogan, then at Schmidt, who simply grinned.
"Be glad to have some mother hens, Klink. I didn't get one within the last thirty years," Burkhalter murmured. Then he turned serious again. "I know that because of Leutnant von Friedrichstein's disappearance you're in dire straits, and I organized some more supplies for you. Until the new Barracks are built, the new POWs can sleep in tents I ordered from several divisions in Saxony. They'll reach you tomorrow or the day after at the latest."
"Tents?" Klink asked flabbergasted.
"Yes, isn't this a great idea from me? As you can see, I'm as clever as Colonel Hogan."
"I dare to doubt that," Will whispered beneath his breath. Aloud, he said, "A formidable idea, Herr General. How many tents can we expect?" He looked in Hogan's direction, who only could roll his eyes. Tents. As if they were at midsummer. He knew the Wehrmachts and SS tents. They were for two or three men, not more.
"Around forty. You only have to think about where to place them."
"Forty." Klink looked at Schmidt, then at Hogan. Both men were grimacing. Forty tents for two or three men were a drop of water on a glowing stone. Wilhelm cleared his throat. "As much as I appreciate your idea to send us tents, there is a lot more we're going to need. Do you have something to write with, sir? I have a list here." In the next few minutes, Klink told him what they needed. He heard Burkhalter sputtering and wheezing, but he didn't care.
"Is that all, Klink?" Burkhalter asked 'graciously', as the Oberst finally came to an end.
"For now, at least," Will deadpanned.
"If you weren't still so sick, then…" the staff officer boomed, then took an audible breath and snarled, "You do know that we're nearing Easter and not Christmas? I'm not Santa Claus who can do some magic to…"
"Due all respect, Herr General, but this whole mess is partly your responsibility," Klink interrupted him sternly. "Schultz tried to reach you for days and left messages at your office, but you never called back. We all could have started to enlarge Stalag 13 last Tuesday or Wednesday if you wouldn't have avoided us. Now the horse is out of the barn you didn't lock up soon enough, and we're in serious need of support. Even if your 'dear friend' Himmler seems to have forgotten that something like the Geneva Conventions exists, you always took them to heart – and you should continue to act in consideration of them. These men are dragging themselves through an icy hell for weeks now, and they have the right to find shelter, rest, and food in my camp. Something we can't offer them if you don't give us the help we already needed last week. I expect the deliveries within the next three days."
For a long moment, there was silence on the line, then Burkhalter said calmly, "Three days would be too late, Klink."
"What do you mean?" the Kommandant asked, alerted.
"I ordered that a train pick up the POWs near Coburg tomorrow and bring them as close to Hammelburg as possible. This will cut down their travel by three days or so. You can expect them the day after tomorrow."
Wilhelm sat there at a loss for words. "How shall we…THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW?"
"Let them sleep on the floor of the Barracks if the tents won't be enough. Or make room for them wherever four walls and a roof are, but…" Albert sighed deeply and confessed softly, "Schultz gave me something to think about – something I almost forgot within the last few weeks and months. We're all human. And after I heard from Major Hartmann, who's leading the guards of the POW column, that approximately 150 dropped out on the way, too weak to continue, I had to do something. Many of them…were shot…I wanted to spare the rest of them further suffering or, worse, death."
"One hundred and fifty…dead?" Will whispered, horrified.
Hogan's eyes became small slits, and pure fury flushed his face. "Doggone monsters!" he hissed. "Rushing them to utter exhaustion and then killing them! I…"
"Which route will the train take?" Schmidt interrupted him, while closing the distance to the American and placing a hand on the man's shoulder. Hogan shrugged it off, too angry to care for a German's comfort, but Horst gripped his upper arm and squeezed it, giving him a firm, but also calming glance. They had to keep a clear head now.
"Which route will the train take?" Klink repeated the question to Burkhalter, feeling sick from what he just learned. 150 or so were dead – died during this murderous walk. If he wasn't so furious he would cry.
"From Coburg to Schweinfurt, and then the old way to Hammelburg. The gap between the repaired railway and the Hammelburg station isn't completely closed, but the way of the forced stop and Stalag 13 won't be more than 6 – 7 km (approximately 3,7 – 4,3 miles)."
"Therefore almost another full day of walking," Will groaned.
"When will the train arrive?" Schmidt spoke loud enough to be heard at the other end of the line. Hogan was seething with wrath, and so Horst took over for him for now.
Klink listened to Burkhalter's answer and glanced up at the two younger men. "He thinks the train will arrive sometime the morning after tomorrow. And it stops near Hammelburg, where the rails are not completely repaired."
"So, they don't have to walk through the town and all the way towards the camp. Good." Schmidt made a short, sharp nod. "I'll be there with a few of my men. I'll make certain that all men will make it alive to this camp." He looked at Klink. "I'll keep you updated about the men's condition and when they're about to reach Stalag 13."
"Thank you," Wilhelm replied, and threw a worried glance at Hogan, who shook with fury. He could understand him. He himself had lost comrades during the Great War over and over again, and every time it had pained him. Robert maybe didn't know those men who had fallen prey to the death walk, but they were comrades. And Rob was a leader through and through. The news had to set him off, no doubt.
He turned his attention back to the telephone, exchanged a few more words with Burkhalter, then the call ended. Schmidt took the receiver from the Oberst's hand and placed it on the phone, steeling himself what was surely about to come. He should be right.
Hogan's curses would have made even a coachman blush. He stood there, balled fists on the dresser, face dark and red, eyes burning with wrath. And none of the two Germans could blame him. What they had just learned was almost too much to grasp. They gave the American officer time to regain some control, while both remained silent.
Finally, after a minute or more, Hogan tried to regain some composure and swallowed down his rage. Breathing heavily, he turned around. For a moment, he only saw the dreaded black uniform, then his mind settled on the familiar youthful features of Schmidt – Schmidt, a supporter and decent man. No murderer like so many others of the SS. And there was Willie. A warrior against this bestial regime. His friend and protector – his lover. Both were not to blame for what happened. Hell, they even tried to help with everything they had, yet Hogan was too stirred up for once to calm down easily.
Schmidt watched him, met his fierce gaze, and came to a decision. He went to the cabinet, took out three glasses, and poured some cognac into them – the last, as it seemed. Silently, he returned and offered the glasses to the two colonels, keeping the third one for himself.
Hogan didn't even wait to knock back the drink, feeling how the alcohol burned in his gut and calmed his nerves. Schmidt and Klink followed his example. Only then Robert realized that Will had taken the drink, and concern for the older man seeped through his burning anger.
"Do you think that stuff is good for you in your condition?" he asked tightly.
Wilhelm couldn't help the little smile that tugged at his mouth. Despite his understandable ire, Hogan would always keep his friends – and his beloved's – best interests at heart.
"No, but one time is no time – and we could all use a drink right now," Klink answered softly.
"A drink can't wash away the bitter taste," Hogan snorted, and placed the empty glass beside the telephone. "Sometimes I ask myself why I even bother with making differences between those diabolical Nazis and other Germans." He closed shortly his eyes. "I always tried to differ between those who are guilty and those who aren't. I never really cared for the heritage of someone, only of his or her character, but things like this makes it more and more difficult."
Carefully, Klink bent forwards and took Hogan's cold hand into his warm one, entwining their fingers. "To witness evil or be on the receiving end of it always wakes doubt in us – doubt about other people, ourselves, doubts the way we chose. But this is the big difference between those who do the evil and those who do not: We chose the path of good, not bad."
Hogan's dark eyes bore into his as Wilhelm went on.
"We try to help where others only do harm. Often it costs strength – more strength than we might have, but somehow we manage to continue. You know why? Because to do good things, to help others, is a stronger motivation than what those men and women drive. I still have some of that belief in me left, and I do think that the Lord gives us strength to go on despite the throwbacks. The many stones in our way and the brutality we're forced to witness hurt our souls. Yet we go on, because without us, those who are weaker and delivered to the cruelness of others, would be lost. Yes, we can't help all of them, but every saved life is one life more we robbed from the Grim Reaper. Every saved life gives those faith who are about to lose hope. Every saved life is another chance of the rescued one to find peace and love one day. Isn't that all worth fighting for?"
Hogan looked down on their entwined hands – American and German, two official enemies now together as allies. Friends and even lovers. And as fighters for a brighter future. He remembered as he had been a step away from being murdered after brutal torture. Will had come and saved him – not only his life, but also his soul, because he nursed him back with so much more than just medicine. He had saved him from losing faith into a better life after the war. Of losing faith that something good still existed in this dark world…and he just did it again.
Wilhelm's words pierced Robert's scorching fury, reached for his heart that bled for those who had been lost in ice and snow, and soothed his shocked soul.
Will was right. Without men like Klink – Schmidt, Schultz, Schnitzer, Helga, Hogan's men, and so many, many others – hundreds of people would have died. People who were still alive. Because Hogan, his men, and their allies had not surrendered to the evil that had spread through the world. They had found enough strength to walk the chosen path, helping and supporting those who were in need of it.
'Satan never sleeps,' went an old saying, therefore they met malice, cruelness, and murder everywhere…but they kept going. Not to give into the anger and rising hate no mortal man could speak himself free of in the face of so much cussedness was the key. To hold onto the chosen path of peace and love was the real weapon against evil; not loath and fury. Yet sometimes you have to ball a hand into a fist and grit your teeth simply not to lose it. Friends and lovers help you through such times – and that was exactly what Will did for Rob now. And Robert recognized it. Wilhelm had anchored him like a few times before.
Gently squeezing his beloved's fingers, he nodded at him, signaling that he was alright again. A gentle smile and the deep love in those blue eyes were the reply – something that soothed Hogan even more.
"I'm okay," he murmured.
"You're sure?" Klink asked softly.
"Yeah," Robert nodded, taking a deep breath. "Thank you."
The smile on Wilhelm's face became more intense. "You're welcome."
Schmidt had watched the two men closely. He knew that a kind of silent talk had taken place after those catching and true words of the older man. Klink had reached something in the enraged American, no one else would have been able to. Those men were not only close – they were soulmates. And maybe not only mates in soul. Horst was not blind. He saw the intense affection in the Oberst's eyes and the way both men's hands were entwined. This was not only to give and receive hold, but more. Very much more. And Schmidt knew that it wouldn't be wise to ask questions right now. Whatever the true nature of those two's relationship was, it had brought them so far and would continue if it stayed safe and hidden.
A knock came on the door, and Langenscheidt stepped into the room, making Hogan and Klink drop their hands instantly. "Uh…sirs," Karl began, not really sure whom to address. "Nine more trucks are coming and bringing field beds, stock beds, sinks, ovens, and bedding."
All three gaped at him, but before Klink could try to rise, Hogan's hand was on his shoulder and held him down. "You're going nowhere other than back to bed."
"But…"
"Let Schultz, Langenscheidt, and I manage this. I already have an idea, so trust me." He looked at Schmidt. "Could you make sure that he returns to bed and lies down?"
"Robert," Wilhelm warned. "I already told you that I'm no child and…"
"And you already disobeyed the doctor's order two times today, so don't make me call him." He gestured at Langenscheidt. "Go outside and call twenty of my men over. They can wait for me at the rec hall. I'll be there in a sec."
"Jawohl, Colonel," Karl replied, and vanished.
Schmidt smirked in amusement at the corporal's reply. "Do I really want to know who of the two gentlemen commands this camp?" he joked, not knowing that Hauptmann Zumrode had more or less voiced the same question.
"Uh…no," Robert replied wryly, before he turned his attention back to Klink, who scowled at him. "Will, do me one big favor and lie down. I have my hands full with work, but I can only do that when I know that you're safe and sound in bed."
Klink lifted an index finger. "If you try to blackmail me one more time today, then…"
From outside, a blaring was heard followed by loud voices. Hogan rolled his eyes and glanced at the older man. "Wilhelm, please, be reasonable and…"
"You really can be more stubborn than a whole flock of donkeys," Klink growled and rose carefully.
Hogan smiled at him. "Love you, too, Honey" he said, waved at Will and hurried to the door. "Schmidt, I count on you that he gets back to bed."
The Oberleutnant watched him go, realizing only now that Hogan had skipped addressing him with rank and name a few times within the last few days now. Most German officers would regard this as an offense, but Horst knew that this was the complete opposite. Hogan called him like he did with all those who belonged to his friends. In other words, he had been incorporated in the American's inner circle. And he couldn't deny that it pleased him.
TBC…
Yeah, Schmidt becomes more and more an extern member of the Heroes – at least he's accepted in a likewise way within Hogan's gang. And this will be very important for him soon, because Hogan never, under no circumstances, let someone down he regards as a friend.
In the next chapter, Schmidt reveals his true humanity and even doesn't shrink back from confronting loyal fellas of the regime. Hogan and the others fight the invisible enemy called 'time', and you'll meet Maximilian, Schultz' youngest son.
I hope, you liked the new chapter. I thought, given the whole inhuman walk of the new prisoners and the losses, Hogan has to lose control and it's Will who anchors him (Love can do such things, and - after all - we've Valentin's Day today). And, of course, it gave Schmidt second thoughts. I also wanted to show the more human side of Burkhalter he was about to lose within the last weeks, but was remembered now what it means to forget mercy.
Like always, I'm curious what you think of the new chapter, so please leave some comments / reviews.
I wish you all know a nice weekend,
'til next week,
Love
Yours Starflight
