Hi, my dear readers,

Sorry for the delay (again), but because of this damn virus, the government ordered that the most shops and companies, which aren't needed for basic needs, has to close. Therefore I had to phone around a lot to cancel the appointments of my customers or to shift them to yesterday and today, because today is the last day my praxis is open. Afterwards I've to close for four weeks (for now). My praxis is in a medical center, and it's eerily silent for once, because a few doctors has been called to the hospitals and Corona-centers to work there, and others praxis – like our physio-studio – had to close. Many shelves in the supermarkets are empty and the most shops within the city are closed.

It's really spooky and you get an imagination how it had to be during and after the war – only that the buildings are intact. Otherwise our cities begin to appear like ghost towns.

I hope, you all out there are doing fine and that this damn virus isn't raging within your family and / or circle of friends…

Now, finally, the next chapter – and there are also some sweet and funny scenes despite the seriousness of the whole story part. I hope, you're going to like it and that, maybe, it gives the one or other reader some easy minutes.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 83 – Controlled clutters

Hogan opened the door to the sleeping room and stepped in. Wilhelm lay on the bed, nightgown rolled up while Dr. Birkhorn examined his stomach. The wound was still clear to see – a red misshaped spot that seemed to be completely out of place with a pinkish surrounding. But it didn't bleed or look inflamed. Yet Rob was more than weary.

"You okay?" he asked worried, and Will nodded. "Doctor?" the American officer probed the surgeon, who began to search for something in his med kit.

"Yes, he hasn't damaged anything. And I think in two or three days I can remove the stitches. Yet that doesn't mean that he can run around and play the hero." He grabbed some bandages. "Please support the Oberst while I re-wrap his wounds, Colonel."

Robert sat down on the bed's edge and helped Wilhelm move into a sitting position. He steadied him, and Will turned his head in his direction. "Robert…" he began, but Hogan shook his head and gave him a dark look. "We'll talk about this insanity later, be sure of it. But first we have to make sure that you don't suffer any relapses."

Klink glanced at Birkhorn, who was bent over him. "You could ask who the Kommandant is here."

"At the moment, you're only a patient, and Colonel Hogan has everything under control. I think that answers the question," the surgeon replied casually.

"Can you imagine General Burkhalter if he learns that my senior POW officer more or less leads this camp, Herr Doktor?"

"Burkhalter accuses me of doing that for years," Robert sighed.

"He does it as a kind of joke and to exert leverage on me. If he only thought that his quirky sense of humor could be true, he would send us both to the next prison."

"So, I think the two gentlemen should keep this little detail a secret. With Sergeant Schultz in the front line, no one has to learn that Colonel Hogan pulls the strings here at the moment," Birkhorn suggested, tightening the bandage around Klink's waist. "Lie down again, and try to warm up. I'll inform Sergeant Carter to ready a hot foot bath for you, and you can take it here by sitting on the bed's edge. Afterwards you rest!" He pulled the nightgown down again and flipped the comforter over the Oberst. "Otherwise I will have an ambulance car ready to take you to the hospital."

"You won't…"

"I would, Herr Oberst, believe me. I hate it when hours of difficult work and many hard attempts to save someone fail in the end only because the patient is careless." He closed the med kit and glanced down at the gaping Klink. "And now I'll have a look at the three newcomers. Herr Oberst, Colonel Hogan," he greeted and left the room, closing the door behind him. He knew that Hogan would not spare the other man a proper scolding.

Robert glanced at the closed door before he turned his attention back to Will. "You know what I'm going to say?" he asked slowly.

Wilhelm sighed deeply. "Yes, and you're right with everything you're going to say – despite the fact that we both are aware that I hadn't another choice in this matter. Me taking the 'risk' stopped another risk that concerned the whole camp. Hartmann is the kind of man who bathes in his sick joy when he can make others suffer, because it gives him a sense of power. He doesn't accept any other authority except when he faces someone of higher rank. And even then he has a problem of accepting orders. Can you imagine what would happen if I hadn't shown up?"

"Schultz is our current Kommandant and…"

"Robert, don't be naïve. He voiced it clearly that he didn't respect Schultz as being in charge here, and he was about to take over. Yes, Schultz would have called General Burkhalter, Burkhalter would have spoken with Hartmann, Hartmann would have pointed out that such a large POW camp has to be lead by a real officer, Burkhalter would have called his 'dear friend' to consolidate his own position as the responsible general of the Luft-Stalags, then he or Himmler would have called, Hartmann would have argued some more – and in the meantime not only the new POWs, but also all of you would have suffered his brutal handling." He shook his head. "No, I had to intervene before things went out of hand. Schultz accepts that you 'support' him by technically leading this camp at the moment, and Schmidt certainly would have tried to step in to stop Hartmann, too, but we both know that you have no official authority here, and Schmidt would have faced trouble. I think the latter will come one way or the other, because if Hartmann learns that Schmidt faked his authority outside of town, our young friend is going to be confronted with a lot of trouble. It was better to stop this lunatic before everything became ugly."

Hogan stared at him. Dammit, since when had Will become so reasonable while being unreasonable? Or was it the other way around? Rob looked accusingly up at the ceiling and groaned loudly. "Let me guess; now you're also going to point out that being a CO always bears risks for one's own health and that I wouldn't have acted any different being in your shoes."

"I see we understand each other – like always," Wilhelm replied, snuggling closer into the warm comforter.

Robert glared down at him. "You do know how to take the wind out of someone's sails – but don't believe that I like it."

Klink smiled up at him. "I know that you're only furious because you care for me so much, and…"

"I LOVE you – and worry comes with the whole package."

Will's smile widened, a tender shimmer in his blue eyes. "Yes, I'm very aware of it. Why do you think Wilson needed to send me to sleep a few nights ago while you were outside saving those escapees and didn't hear or see anything from you for hours? Believe me, I was mad with worry. Even a clever fox like you can be lured into a trap – and if it wouldn't have been for Schmidt, you, your men, Schultz, and I would have faced a firing squad." He reached out and wrapped his long, cold fingers around Hogan's strong ones. "But I understand why you had to take this risk – it's what you do when others need you. So, please don't be angry with me because I did what I had to do to shield all the men within these wires from a sadistic bastard."

Hogan wanted to give Will a piece of his mind. He really did – but he couldn't. Not when he thought more about it. Willie was right. They both didn't care for any risk when the health and life of others depended on them.

"You have me there," he growled. "But I'll give you one promise: If you try to leave this bed within the next few days even one damn time, I'll TIE you down." His eyes shone with fire.

Klink was not ready to quit, but rather to turn the tables for once, so he wriggled his eyebrows and teased. "A very alluring prospect, but don't you think that I'm in too bad of a condition for that kind of game?"

Hogan gaped at him as he realized what Will was implying.

Wilhelm gave his beloved a triumphal smile. "Wordless for once. I knew I would manage it one day again."

Hogan closed his eyes, counted to three, looked up again – and closed his mouth over Will's, giving him a hard, fierce, and passionate kiss that came far too quick to an end.

"If you worry me this much one more time, Phoenix, we'll have a real serious talk," Hogan said, tone hoarse. God, how much he missed being 'close' to Will.

"I look forward to it if it ends like this one," Klink teased. Then there was a knock at the door, and while Robert sat up properly, the Oberst called, "Enter."

Schmidt opened the door and let Carter in, who carried a bowl with hot water. "The foot bath is ready for you, Kommandant," Andrew announced, and placed the bowl in front of the bed.

"Thanks, Carter," Robert nodded, rose, and helped Klink to sit up and to swing his legs over the bed's edge. Taking the comforter, he wrapped it around the older man, who carefully put his feet into the water.

Schmidt observed the two officers. Weren't their lips a little bit swollen? Well, at least they were reddened. Another hint of his assumption. "Feeling better, Herr Oberst?" He asked.

"The cold was worse than anything else, but I'm warming up." Klink sighed.

'As sure as hell you're 'warming' up,' Horst thought. 'I don't want to take your pulse now – or Hogan's.' Aloud he said, "Even worse than the pain?" He caught Hogan's alerted gaze and saw Klink rolling his eyes.

"You're not helping here."

Carter stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "What are they doing with the lunch now, Colonel? The newcomers are fast asleep and don't even react when Dr. Birkhorn examines them."

Looking at his wrist watch, Hogan sighed, "Easy. We eat it. Connor and his two friends will get something when they wake up. Set the table for five people, Carter."

"For five?" Andrew was confused. "But we're six."

"Klink won't leave bed for the next few days. And if he tries, I'll chain him." He heard the youngest member of his team snickering, while Klink gasped, and Schmidt began to grin.

"I would have to intervene, Colonel," Schmidt said. "What you're planning is deprivation of liberty."

"We're in a prisoner camp, Lieutenant. 'Deprivation of liberty' is the headline here," Hogan commented wryly.

"Says the 'prisoner' who goes and comes like he wants," Schmidt laughed quietly. "You have more liberties than many husbands."

"Husbands?" Hogan asked, cocking his head. To what was Schmidt referring? Had he realized what was going on between him and Klink, or was this only an innocent joke? Given the young man's high intelligence, Robert doubted the latter.

"Well, when I hear some of my men talking…" Schmidt shrugged, and his schooled mind instantly saw the man relax in front of him. There was no doubt left anymore. The two were a couple. And what gave Horst something to think of he didn't mind – despite law and the regards of governments, churches, and 'normal' people.

"Well, many marriages go well, too," Hogan deadpanned.

"You do know that I have to use the restrooms from time to time?" Klink growled, pouting, and Robert gave him a sunny smile.

"Yes, this and washing is the ONLY excuse for you to be out of bed for a few minutes. Understood?"

Will frowned at him. "I think it's about time to remind you that I'm the Kommandant here."

"And, like I always said, in the moment you're only a patient," Rob replied far too kindly, before he glanced at Carter. "Any questions concerning my given order, Andrew?"

"I thought maybe Dr. Birkhorn would want to have some lunch, too."

"No, thank you, I have to return to the infirmary," the surgeon answered the question, appearing on the door step. "I checked the men through. Their feet have to be treated, and they need a lot of rest and food – water and soap later. Lieutenant Harrison sports a light fever that has to be watched. Otherwise they're unharmed – at least physically. I don't know of their mental state, but I have a good idea how their souls and minds are."

Hogan nodded slowly. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome. I'll give Wilson and Hauser instructions on how to treat their feet. It's nothing those two couldn't handle." He glanced at Klink, nodded in satisfaction as he saw that the Oberst had food and bath, and pointed a finger at him. "After this bath you lie down and behave. Otherwise I'll take you with me to Hammelburg this evening." He turned away. "If the gentlemen will excuse me…"

Klink moaned and grimaced. "Sweet Lord, I need a rescue."

"Too late," Hogan smirked, then he glanced at Schmidt. "Sit down at the dining table. I'm sure you're hungry after giving up your packet lunch to the boy."

Will looked up. "You did what?" Then he began to realize something. "Has this to do with the almost murder of the boy you wanted to tell me about?"

Horst nodded. "Yes," he replied. "Like we heard from General Burkhalter the day prior to yesterday, POWs which were too exhausted to carry on didn't make it. I think they were 'simply' shot. The latter almost happened to a very young man – more a boy than anything else – after Fuhrmann and I arrived. I intervened and gave the boy and his brother my lunch, that's all, so…"

"Don't hide your light under a bush," Fuhrmann's voice cut in, while he stopped at the threshold. Looking from Hogan to Klink and back, he told them. "He heard the desperate cries for mercy of the older brother, rushed to them, tore the guard's arm away at the very last second so the bullet went to the sky, threatened to arrest any guard who tried something like it again, and ordered me to get his lunch packet. As I returned, he had covered the boy with his own coat and gave him and his brother some of his bread and tea of this thermo flask; the rest was given to me with the order that the most exhausted POWs get something between their teeth." The older man looked almost fondly at a flushed Schmidt. "You're simply too modest, sir."

"I only did my duty," Horst murmured, ears red.

"No, you did more," Hogan said softly. "Steven Martins told me of your feat. Thank you, Lieutenant. You saved that boy's life, stopped Hartmann and his gang of killers, and helped the newcomers by arranging trucks to pick them up. Now you're hesitating to get some lunch from us here. You deserved a buffet, but regrettably it's only soup and bread."

Klink had listened with large eyes and glanced now with almost fatherly pride at the young man. "You're really a good man, Schmidt, and I'm honored to count you as my friend." He smiled at Fuhrmann. "And I'm glad that you support and shield him."

"Someone has to look out for the young ones," Fuhrmann shrugged and grinned at his superior as the Oberleutnant grimaced.

"Tell me about it," Klink commented wryly, glancing at Hogan, who only groaned. Then the Oberst turned serious again. "Herr Oberleutnant, I know you certainly left a desk full of work, but I need your official report of what you witnessed as soon as possible. Especially concerning this attempted murder. I'll try to get Hartmann punished for what he did, allowed or tolerated, but for that I not only need the statements of the Lt. Colonel and his men, but also from neutral witnesses like you so that I can send them to Berlin."

"I'll write my report after returning to HQ," Schmidt nodded.

"Gentlemen, lunch is served," Carter said from behind Fuhrmann.

"Very good," Klink replied, and was about to rise, making some of the water splash – and Hogan reacted with lightning speed. Lying both hands on Will's shoulder, he held him down and said forcefully, "You remain here in bed and rest – or Dr. Birkhorn will take you with him to the hospital. I'm in no mood to sneak every evening out of camp to creep to Hammelburg only to visit you. So do us all a favor, and lie down."

Fuhrmann gaped at him and whispered into Schmidt's direction. "That was a joke, wasn't it?"

Horst was tempted to tell his confidant that this was anything but a joke. After all, Hogan and his men left and returned to camp to their own liking, but he thought that it would be a little much for the older man. Fuhrmann already had to stomach the camp's Kommandant and his senior POW officer were lovers.

"I think you know Colonel Hogan by now," he replied with a smile. "He loves to joke."

Hogan, who had knelt down, listened with one ear, satisfied that Schmidt didn't give him away – not even in front of his own confidant. Feeling himself relax a little bit, he dried Will's feet and made certain that the older man lay down before Carter put the bowl with the water away. Only then he followed the others into the dining room to have a quick lunch before he helped Klink eat his soup in bed. And then a lot more work lay ahead.

*** HH ***

It was disbelieving how much work had to be done even without continuing to clear out the woods in the south of Stalag 13 or the construction of the roof on the former motor pool and installation of light inside. Many of the newcomers simply had simply fallen asleep the moment they lay down, and the tension left them with the rising knowledge that their martyrium was over – that they had made it. Others didn't find sleep easily. The suffering and constant fear of being killed haunted them. This, and their never stopping hunger.

More than half of them were not able to hold a spoon without spilling the soup because their hands trembled so bad. They had to get support or even be fed to. Others only wanted something to drink, several needed to use the restroom, and some had to be medically treated.

Schmidt first visited Hilda, but kept his stay at the Kommandantur short. Schultz was nervous because of Hartmann and his continual complaining about everything. Therefore, Hilda had to give her current 'boss' support.

With no real task at hand anymore, Horst could return to Gestapo HQ, but he didn't find the heart to leave. He knew that he was needed here, last but not least because of Hartmann. He didn't trust the man for a second, and with Hogan still so furious, Klink out of commission, and Schultz being uncertain, the situation could get out of control. He decided to stay until Hartmann had done his report and his driver had come to bring the files and pick up the major. He also ordered that the-SS trucks stay should Hartmann's men had to be transported elsewhere – to Schweinfurt to catch a train or to Hammelburg to stay overnight in one of the fugitive shelters. There was no way that these men would remain in camp.

Hartmann had insisted of informing his superior of his task's end, and he and the other guards were waiting for new orders from Berlin, which still had to be given. From Hilda, Schmidt learned that Schultz had called Burkhalter after the first group of men had arrived and had told him about the major's brutal handling of Camp 64's POWs. Horst assumed that the lack of next assignment was because of it.

To kill some time, he looked after the newcomers which were hosted in the official buildings of the camp. Maybe he could talk with a few of them and learn some reasons to press charges against their tormentors.

He entered the former casino in the middle of controlled chaos and stopped dead in his tracks. The whole air reeked of unwashed bodies, putrefaction, blood, and dirt. Every field and stock bed was occupied, low moans and occasional sobs were heard. POWs of Stalag 13 were feeding the newcomers or helping them otherwise, comforting them with hushed voices. And everywhere he saw thin figures, bearded hole faces, and reddened eyes – even when they were closed.

The enormity of what happened to these men hit him with the force of a hammer. Even if he was not to blame for those prisoners' conditions, he felt sick with guilt – guilt born out of moral complicity. This here was another crime his highest ranking superior was responsible for, and it filled him with wrath and deep disappointment that the regime had reprobated to a bunch of ruthless monsters for which a human life didn't count more than the dirt beneath a fingernail.

"Water…" someone croaked near him. "Please, some water."

Schmidt's gaze found a man of his own age wearing the US uniform of a second lieutenant of the Infantry. His brown hair was one tousled mess, his bloodshot eyes were unfocused, and his whole gaunt body trembled.

Quickly looking around, Horst found the lined up water jars and bottles on the sideboard of the left wall. With a few steps, he reached the piece of furniture, took one of the bottles, and returned to the other man. Kneeling down, he opened the bottle, carefully pushed his free hand under the lieutenant's neck to steady his head, and placed the bottle against his lips. The man drank eagerly, almost desperately.

"Slowly," Schmidt said softly "Or you'll grow sick."

The man's eyes wandered towards him – and all of sudden he stiffened while sheer fear appeared in his gaze. With a weak hand, he tried to push the bottle away, but Schmidt wouldn't have any of it.

"At ease, Lieutenant. I'm not here to hurt you." It was obvious that the American didn't believe him. His reddened eyes hung on the black uniform before he tried to move away. "Hush, Lieutenant. I'm not your enemy. I only want to help." He saw the deep distrust, sighed, and took two sips from the bottle himself. "Here, see? No poison, no drugs." He let go of the officer, pulled his handkerchief out, cleaned the bottle, and set it again to the lieutenant's lips. "You can trust me. This is only water with some salt and sugar to help you, nothing else." He gestured towards the next bed. "See, your comrade's getting the same."

With much effort, the man turned his head, looked at the next bed, saw the same kind of bottle being given by an American non-com to the bed's occupant, and glanced back with a lot of hesitation at Schmidt.

"It's all right," Horst said gently, ashamed how much a usual strong man could be reduced to a bundle of nerves only because of his uniform. "I know that you have no reason to trust me, but believe me, I only want to help." He lifted the bottle. "Do you still want some more?"

It lasted many seconds, but finally the man nodded, and so Schmidt lifted the lieutenant's head again and placed the bottle to his lips. And the lieutenant wasn't the only one. More and more POWs woke up from their short slumber, their senses still on high alert – and hungry like wolves. Two times Schmidt helped, and it was always the same: His uniform seemed to wake not only hate but also fear. Having enough, he slipped out of his coat and black jacket, hung it up on the hook beside the door, placed his cap there, and even removed his tie with the dreaded pin. Rolling the sleeves of his sandy yellow shirt up, he took a bowl from one of the POW cooks and began feeding a young corporal. He didn't care that this was against any protocol and would raise a lot of trouble for him should someone see. These men here needed help, and he would be dammed to stay aside and watch without doing something.

*** HH ***

After Robert helped Wilhelm eat his soup in bed, he ordered Carter to stay in Klink's quarters for the case that Connor and the others woke up, or Will needed something. The latter was complaining that he didn't need a 'babysitter', but Rob was firm this time.

"I don't want you to be forced to leave bed because you need something. And should the three guys in the next room wake up, they're better not alone. Carter knows this building, so he can help them find their way around and order food."

"But…"

"He stays. End of story," Robert said sternly, gave him a kiss to take some sharpness out of his words, and left while LeBeau was quietly cleaning the dishes. He knew that every helping hand was welcomed, so he headed towards the infirmary to offer his support.

*** HH ***

The afternoon went by. Most of the new POWs slept, others got something to eat and drink and received more medical care. Birkhorn, the surgeons who had accompanied him, and the nurses were more than busy with cleaning and wrapping mostly sore and bleeding feet, but that was not all.

More than 160 men sported a serious cold or bronchitis, and others had problems with their stomachs. More than 40 had a fever that woke Birkhorn's suspicion of spotted fever – an illness that resembled typhus because of its red spots, but it wasn't triggered by salmonella. It was by bacteria transmitted by fleas and cooties. This disease was also called 'war typhus' and appeared especially in places where hygiene was more than low. Given the fact that the POWs of Camp 64 hadn't any chance to wash properly or clean their clothes within more than six weeks, it was no wonder that a few of them were infected. While speaking with the men, Birkhorn learned that more than twenty 'fell prey' to the disease. All of them had been killed by the guards before the illness caused their death.

Seeing that the infected men were in all the buildings – mess hall, casino, cantina, rec hall, and infirmary – Birkhorn ordered to transfer the not infected men out of the infirmary and those who caught the spotted fever brought to sickbay. To prevent the bacteria from being transferred, the beds of the ill men accompanied their occupants, and the infirmary was put under quarantine. Those, who caught a cold, were transferred to the former mess hall so that the two different type of patients were separated from each other, but also from those who weren't ill.

More than 300 of the usual POWs lend a hand, and not only them. Hogan couldn't prevent his jaw from dropping as he stepped into the rec hall and saw Schmidt helping to switch beds and occupants, sleeves rolled up, collar open, and a surgical mask in front of his mouth and nose like the medical personnel. Their eyes met over the distance, and both men nodded at each other in mutual respect. The Oberleutnant and another man lifted a shivering newcomer on his feet and supported him, while two other POWs got the man's bed and brought it to the infirmary.

Hogan closed the distance to Schmidt after the younger man handed over the patient to someone else. "You're not taking a small risk here," he said quietly, and Horst shrugged.

"I'm wearing a mask, and I'll wash my hands afterwards. Maybe Dr. Birkhorn can give me some disinfection agents, too, then the risk will be low." He watched how the patient was led away towards the infirmary. "If I think that that man and the others are in this bad of shape because Hartmann gave them no chance to take care of basic hygiene, I get the thought of murder."

Hogan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Stay calm, my friend. I think when Burkhalter learns of this, Hartmann will be in the trouble he deserves to be in."

"Hopefully," Schmidt grumbled, and turned away towards the next patient.

It took more than two hours, but the newcomers were finally divided in consideration of the disease they caught. And Birkhorn was frustrated. Usually the treatment of spotted fever, colds, and bronchitis had become far more easier since penicillin had been developed, but seeing that the hospital in Hammelburg was running out of it, it would be difficult to help. Especially those whose spotted fever was more than a week old.

Schultz and Hogan were in the compound as Birkhorn approached them, his expression grave. "I'm really concerned for more than 20 of them," he said slowly. "They've been infected for more than eight days, and to cure them without real medicine resembles a miracle. Same goes for those who have a cold or even bronchitis. I made certain that they're accommodated separately in the mess hall, but given the coughs and sneezes…I fear that they will infect each other over and over again."

Robert stemmed his hands on his hips and lowered his head, while Schultz cursed quietly. "What are their chances?" he asked quietly.

Birkhorn shrugged. "It's not easy to tell, Colonel. But if they cannot be treated like needed, I don't think at least 20 or 30 will make it."

Robert closed his eyes, while Hans swore beneath his breath. "These would be the first death cases within the camp," the large Bavarian whispered. "We lost people because of accidents, but never because of disease. There wasn't even one man killed during an escape attempt. The Kommandant always made sure that the POWs were punished, but never shot."

Looking at Hogan, the surgeon added, "Like I said; they need medicine – penicillin at best, but a wide range of antibiotics would help, too."

Grimacing and sighing in one, Rob understood what Birkhorn was implying. "I'll speak with London. They'll certainly be interested who the POWs from Camp 64 are here and which ones didn't make it."

Schultz stared at him and closed his eyes while shaking his head. "I hear nnnnnnooothing!"

Hogan and Birkhorn exchanged a glance, and for a moment, both had to hide a smile. Then they heard the loud voice of Hartmann shouting over the compound.

"SEEERRRGEAAANNNT!"

Instantly, Schultz's face darkened. "If this nagging king complains over one thing more, I'll kick him out of the camp – literally!" he growled, turned around, and plodded angrily towards the former motor pool. "What is it now?" he barked from afar. "I've a camp to lead and to take care of those men you let down despite your responsibility. So STOP whining about only getting soup and having cold feet. Maybe you realize now what you did to those poor guys!"

Hogan lifted both eyebrows in surprise. "It needs a lot to get Schultz that irritated, but Hartmann obviously managed it within a few hours."

"An unpleasant fella," Birkhorn nodded. "It's that kind of man who elicits trouble wherever he goes. The world would be much better without such a…bastard." He had lowered his voice, but his eyes shot daggers into the direction of the major, who gesticulated wildly while speaking with Schultz, whose face began to flush.

"Poor Schultzie," Hogan sighed. "He really doesn't have it easy at the moment."

*** HH *** HH ***

SS-Hauptmann Glockner paraded up and down the lines of boys that looked completely out of place in their makeshift uniforms. Yet many of them wore proud expressions on their dirty faces and seemed to be satisfied that they got something 'useful' to do in these days. Others, like Max and Frank, hid their true thoughts behind a stare mask, but inside they all loathed the Hauptmann, who seemed to mistake them constantly with well-trained, longstanding schooled soldiers. He was harsh and ruthless, preferred those boys who were likewise, and for the others he only spared offenses.

At the moment, he spoke of the unswerving will of the 'honorable and proud men' who would 'fight 'til the last breath' against the 'land robbers' which lurked around the town and how much every hand that could hold a gun counted now.

Max knew what this speech meant: The preamble for the order that they should be prepared to take arms and fight against the superior power of the American soldiers. News was given that a large US-division had crossed the Moselle yesterday and rose camps at two smaller towns along the small river. At the moment they were busy with rising a third camp in Korben, a village that was located in the west, only a few kilometers away from the Coblenz Forest Park. They were preparing to attack the town from the west and south; surrounding the city like this completely, because in the north and the east were the rivers where all bridges were destroyed, and from the west and south came the hostile troops.

Yet the order remained the same: Hold the position.

And Max and Frank were very aware what that meant for them and their comrades: Combat. They would have to fight man against man in a situation that couldn't be won – not when they thought of the one thousand 'men' they were, and the many thousands of GIs that would simply flood them away.

'This is suicide,' Max thought and gulped. 'They really expect to have us shot down like animals despite the fact that we have no chance of winning this battle? Glockner and the others are crazy!'

He bit his lips and took a deep breath in, praying that the attack wouldn't come too soon. And he was right. It would last three more days until the final battle for the town would begin…

*** HH *** HH ***

Hogan quietly stepped into Barracks 2. Only Olsen was there watching over the newcomers who slept.

"Everything's all right, sir," the flyer reported with hushed voice. "They're sleeping like babies."

"No wonder," Hogan murmured, and tip toed to his quarters; peeking inside. His desk was pushed to the wall to make room for the added sleeping places. The new POWs snored, and an unpleasant stench lay in the air despite the half opened window. He looked up at his own bed and found it – to his surprise – unoccupied. Closing the door, he turned toward Olsen.

"There's one bed still free," he whispered.

The man nodded. "Yes, Colonel; yours. We didn't know how long you would stay at Klink's, so…" He shrugged.

Robert sighed. "Given the fact that the camp seems to burst at the seams and Klink is still unreasonable enough to walk around with a not even completely closed hole in his stomach, I'll stay in his quarters for longer." He pursed his lips and got an idea. "I'll send Lieutenant Harrison over when he wakes up. He's Lt. Colonel Connor's friend and seems to have his heart in the right place. Maybe we can win him for our little club, and it would come in handy to have him accommodated to this Barracks."

Olsen grinned. Hogan was always eager to recruit new 'members' for his 'club'. Even if he did most of his missions with his core team, he also depended on the support of the others.

"Was one of the surgeons here?" the colonel switched the topic.

"Yes, more than an hour ago. None of the men seem to sport bronchitis or spotted fever, but four have a cold."

Hogan grimaced. "Is Barker downstairs?" he asked, and the flyer nodded.

"Yes, for hours now. I think he'll get roots soon if he stays downstairs for much longer."

Hogan laughed quietly, stepped towards the hidden entrance, and knocked on the upper bed frame. Instantly the 'trap door' opened, and the colonel stepped onto the ladder. "Close the door behind me," he instructed softly. "I'll knock when I'm done."

"Yes, sir." Olsen tipped at his temple and did as told as soon as Hogan vanished.

Baker looked up from the radio as he heard the secret entrance opening and smiled as he recognized his CO and friend, who climbed down the ladder. "Distraction," he sighed. "I'm going mad here without anything to do."

Despite the serious situation, Hogan had to smirk. His whole gang consisted of workaholics. "Well, I think dozen of our comrades would love to switch places with you right now, seeing that they all are playing nurse and have the displeasure to smell a very unique Eau de Cologne in every building."

Baker cocked his head. "That bad?"

"Worse – and almost 200 of them are in serious need for medicine." He nodded at the radio. "Try to reach London. We need wide range antibiotics and penicillin…or a few of the guys won't make it."

Richard cursed and gripped for the headset, hoping that London would agree to the requirement. Ten minutes later, everything was settled. Hogan had given London an update about the arrived newcomers, but regrettably wasn't able to give the names of those who escaped or died. He promised to send a list of the arrived men as soon as he got the information. He also told London about the serious condition more than 200 POWs were in and asked for medications to treat them.

Given the fact that penicillin and even wide range antibiotics were rare even in England, London could only offer two shots per patient. More would have to be required from the US, which would take a few days. The air packages would come later that night; exact time and place of 'delivery' would be told later.

Satisfied that he had managed to get some medicine, Hogan left the tunnels while Baker remained at the radio waiting for more instructions. Climbing back into Barracks 2, the colonel heard the newcomers snoring, exchanged a glance with Olsen, and left the hut to inform Schultz.

While crossing the compound, Hogan saw Schmidt's staff car still parking within the camp. Obviously the young man was determined to help as much as he could. The SS trucks were still present, the others of the Hammelburger company having departed already.

Stepping into the Kommandantur to speak with Schultz, he learned from Hilda that the large Bavarian wasn't in the office.

"If you want to speak with Schultzie, you have to go to the new mess hall. He is still having a little dance with this SS-major there," she said.

"Thanks, no need," Robert grumbled. "If I face that damn bastard one more time, I'll certainly do something I'm going to regret later." He glanced around, but before he could say one more word, the door opened, and Langenscheidt stepped in.

"Coming from the former motor pool. Sergeant Schultz sent me to…"

"No. No more objections from this damn SS-guy," Hilda moaned.

"No, not really." He looked at Hogan, clearly relieved to see him there. "There is one thing we didn't think about as we began to change the motor pool into the mess hall."

"What is it?" Robert asked.

"The ground. It was frozen for three months, but now – with the stoves set to work – it's softening and changing into mud."

Hogan's eyes widened for a moment, then he stemmed his hands on his hips and groaned. "Super."

Karl nodded with a sigh. "There is no chance to cover it with wooden planks. They would sink in without any foundation. But if the ground unfreezes more, you and your men will trudge through the floor soon. Sergeant Schultz sent me here to arrange for pebble we could use."

"That wouldn't be enough," Robert said slowly. "The little stones would sink into the ground, too. Plus the uneven ground would make the furniture unsteady."

Hilda tipped the end of her pencil against her lips before she mused, "We prevent something like this from happening between our stable and the pasture by spreading straw on the ground. It isn't the best solution for the new mess hall, but it would help for now."

Hogan nodded. "Good idea. Any chance that your parents can spare some straw bales?"

The young woman shrugged. "I can call my father and ask him." A beaming smile was the answer, and giggling, she gripped for the telephone receiver.

"I'll tell Sergeant Schultz about it," Langenscheidt offered. "And maybe we can call some farmers if they can provide us with some."

"Thanks," Robert nodded, and watched the man go, then he got an idea. Schnitzer! The veterinarian knew all farmers around Hammelburg. Maybe he could help them, too. Watching Hilda calling her parents, he went into Klink's office and was about to use the telephone, when an incoming call ringed. Hearing Hilda speaking in the anteroom, he grimaced and lifted the receiver.

"Stalag 13, Büro des Kommandanten, (office of the Kommandant)," he answered the call.

"Ich möchte mit Feldwebel Schultz spre…HOGAN! Is that YOU?" (I want to speak with Sergeant Schultz…)

Burkhalter!

Hogan felt his stomach sinking, then he took a deep breath and answered, "Yes, General, it's me."

Silence. For more than ten seconds there was only silence on the line, and Robert was about to ask if the general was still there or had fallen off his chair when the Austrian's voice sounded again. "What are you doing there? Have you taken over the camp, or what?"

'You hit the bullseye,' the colonel thought wryly, but said aloud, "No, General, Sergeant Schultz is with SS-Major Hartmann, Hilda's phoning around for supplies we need, and I'm here because I'm waiting for Schultz. But with Hilda being on the phone I thought…"

"A senior POW officer answers the calls for the camp he is captured in. This world has become crazy!" Burkhalter sounded frustrated, and for once Hogan could understand him. It had to be very hard for the man to realize that everything was falling apart.

"I agree, General. The world has really changed. Until a few weeks ago, Nazi Germany accepted the Geneva Conventions, but the proof that these rules were broken arrived this morning in the shape of approximately 1000 almost starved, ill, exhausted men," Hogan answered with a low growl in his voice. "153 were killed, and 200 are gravely ill. The surgeon fears that many won't survive the next two days because they were denied even the most primitive hygiene."

"Spotted fever?" Burkhalter asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. They're isolated now. The same goes for men with bronchitis. If Lieutenant Schmidt wouldn't have been so considering and organized for a few trucks, a few more would have died in the last couple miles. It's a shame, General, and I say this from officer to officer."

Again there was silence for a few seconds, then the Austrian sighed. "I only got hazy information from Major Hartmann concerning the men's condition and the losses, but…"

"Hartmann! That man is an ice cold killer. One of Hartmann's men tried to shoot a mere boy two miles away from our camp, because the boy broke down. Schmidt prevented it – but what almost happened to Evan Martins was done to many others by command of Hartmann."

"Hogan…"

"He also didn't accept Schultz's authority and tried to take over Stalag 13," Robert added, knowing that the following details would elicit Burkhalter's real anger. "Klink was forced to leave bed and give him strict orders as the higher ranking officer – and that while he still has a hole in his stomach. Even that was more or less ignored by Hartmann. Only after Klink threatened to involve your 'dear friend', Hartmann gave in, but is tyrannizing the camp since then with never ending complaints, demands, and offenses."

"What?" Burkhalter's voice betrayed his irritation. "Klink was forced to re-consume his duties despite his injury? Where is this Hartmann now?"

'At least you've come to realize what a fine man Will is. That to risk his health is a shame, too,' Hogan thought to himself. Aloud he answered, "In the mess hall writing his report. Klink insisted of getting not only the report, but also the files of the new prisoners, which Hartmann hadn't with him. He said his driver has the files and is waiting for him."

The general sounded thoughtful. "That sounds…odd, to say it carefully. On the other hand, Hartmann was forced to man the train that took the POWs to Hammelburg, and more than a thousand files are no light-weight cargo." He murmured something the colonel couldn't understand before the Austrian continued. "Hogan, as much as I appreciate your open words and factual report, I have to speak with Schultz at once. Is he somewhere close by?"

Robert sighed. Burkhalter was unusually understanding and tame today. "I have no clue, sir. The whole camp is sinking into chaos, and he has all hands full to stay in control – last but not least because of the major's interventions."

"When you see him, tell me to call me ba…"

"COLONEL HOGAN! Sacra, what are you doing there?" Schultz stood at the threshold of the office, eyes wide.

"I'm speaking with General Burkhalter," Robert replied innocently.

"Jo mei, Himmel Herrschaftszeiten noch o mal! Can't let you out of my sight for ten minutes!" the large Bavarian groused in his dialect, while hurrying to the desk and all but tearing the receiver away from the American. "Give me that, and stay back." He shot Hogan an enraged glance. "What shall General Burkhalter think!?"

"That Stalag 13 has a few Kommandanten now – including an American one," Burkhalter's voice deadpanned from the tiny speaker.

Schultz wheezed and flushed, glaring daggers at Hogan, who simply grinned, and put the receiver against his ear. "Herr General, I apologize for this oversized boy's impertinence. Be sure that he is in trouble now." He took a deep breath. "How can I be at your service?" He listened, nodded with a "Ah-ah," nodded again, sighed, and answered, "Yes, Colonel Hogan was right with those statements, Herr General. Regrettably not only more than 150 men died during this 'walk', approximately 200 are seriously ill." He listened again and grimaced. "I know, Herr General. Failures happen, but in this case the 'failure' lays completely with Major Hartmann and his pack of dogs. Wha…Yes, I know that is no proper way to speak of a higher ranking officer, but, sir, I think this man has forfeit to be treated like an honorable officer of the Third Reich, because he doesn't behave like one. He…" He looked at Hogan and made a sharp gesture towards the door.

Hogan lifted both brows in surprise, but this time Schultz was hard. "One moment please, Herr General." He fixed Robert with a stern glance. "Colonel Hogan, wait outside. And I mean outside, so leave."

Knowing that Schultz was for once serious, Robert threw up both hands and left the office. Hilda had ended the talk with her father and looked up. "Papa says we can spare a few straw bales. He'll bring them over in the evening."

"Thanks, Hilda. You're the best." Hogan sighed and drew nearer. "Can you call Schnitzer?"

"The veterinarian?" The young woman frowned. "Why?"

"He knows many farmers around Hammelburg and can organize more straw," the colonel shrugged.

Hilda giggled. "You never give up, do you?"

He grinned back. "You know me." He winked at her.

Rolling her eyes in fond amusement, Hilda lifted the receiver again. It was no problem to talk Schnitzer into helping them, and she had barely ended the call as Schultz opened the door and snapped, "Hogan, in my office!"

"You mean in Klink's offi…"

"This is no time for your damn jokes," the Sergeant of the Guards barked, for once really angry. "Do you have the tiniest clue how much of an earful from Burkhalter I got because you were in this office without someone watching you? That you were able to answer a call from outside without…"

"Schultz, at least Burkhalter learned from a neutral person that Hartmann saps your authority, tried to kick you out of this office to get command over the camp, and forced Klink to leave bed. That will spare you another dance with the damn bastard. And Burkhalter knew that Hartmann killed or gave orders to kill more than 150 of our men, which is against the Geneva Conventions. He has the possibility to make the right decisions even before the official report reaches him. I think this is a complete win-win-situation for him and us here."

Hans gaped at him, looked at Hilda, and groaned. "He doesn't catch it. Our clever mastermind simply doesn't get it for once." He glanced back at Hogan. "Colonel Hogan, you're a POW, and a POWs shouldn't answer the phone in his jailer's office as if he's a damn secretary."

"Hey." Hilda protested.

"I AM a kind of secretary for you at the moment, Schultzie. Or shall I stop making the administration for you?" Robert challenged.

Schultz rubbed his forehead. "Herr Hogan, what we're doing here secretly is…well, secretly. But to answer the phone – especially when General Burkhalter calls – is a big no-no."

"And how should I know that it was 'Burki' who called? It isn't as if the phone has a screen or tells me who calls before I pick up the receiver."

"See, that is exactly the point. You don't know WHO calls, so stay away from the damn phone before some heads roll," Hans scolded him. He pinched his nose as an intense headache was approaching. "Was there something special you wanted, or why are you here at all?"

"I got an idea what to do concerning the new mess hall's floor." Hogan shrugged.

Schultz grimaced. "I don't think that this is the most important matter right now," he grumbled, and turned towards his desk again.

"Oh, and London is sending some medicine," Robert added casually at the sidelines.

"Good," Schultz nodded. "Like this we can…LONDON?" Whirling around, he looked with large eyes at a smirking colonel.

"Yep, the delivery comes later tonight and…"

"You're going to kill me." Schultz whined. "One day you're going to kill me – when Burkhalter shoots me or when I get a heart attack because of your damn monkey business!"

TBC…

Just imagine, you're responsible for POW camps, call one and the senior POW officer answers the call… Yes, Burkhalter really must have been near a heart attack (LOL, I couldn't resist). And of course poor Schultzie has to carry the can for it. He really hasn't it easy with Hogan and his gang.

In the next chapter, Schmidt shows Hogan what a clever and bright-minded man he is, when he tells him bluntly that he knows the two colonels' 'sweet secret'. Then everyone in Stalag 13 tries to help the newcomers and to do the best in the given situation, and Connor wakes up – finding our two love-birds in a rather 'odd' situation…

I hope, you liked the new chapter and, like always, I'm curious what you think about it, so please hit the 'Review'-button.

Have a hopefully good rest of the week,

Love

Yours Starflight