Hi, my dear readers,

I hope you all could enjoy Eastern at least a little bit, and that you and your families/friends are still all well.

Thank you so much for the big feedback; I love just how much the story is still able to catch you all.

And because the next chapter is a more funny one, too – with Burkhalter very close to a heart attack because of what he witnessed, Hogan pulling his leg again – here we go.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 86 – A Sudden Epiphany

Schultz gulped as his gaze hung at the general. This was the worst scenario possible. The only thing that could top this would have been Burkhalter finding Hogan and his men running around in town, wearing SS- or Wehrmacht-uniforms.

"Herr General…" he began carefully, desperately searching for the right words. "We…well, we've…Uhng…"

Burkhalter could be patient, but not when he was already upset. And given the fact that the whole scenario in front of him tested his nerves in a new dimension, his patience was thin as ice.

"I'm waiting, Schultz. And I don't like to wait. Is there any chance you will get one complete sentence out, or…"

"What Schultz wanted to say is…" Hogan closed his mouth as a heated glare hit him.

"I asked Schultz, not you, Hogan! When I want some answers from you, I'll say so."

"Crisis management," Langenscheidt dared to say, and found himself in the center of the angry general's attention.

"I beg your pardon, Corporal?" he asked dangerously calm.

"We have a serious crisis here, Herr General, therefore Sergeant Schultz convened a crisis meeting with all occupied parties. We worked out a solution, and now the crisis management is acting on it."

Burkhalter bobbed again on his feet. "You should consider a career in an office after the war, Corporal."

"Thank you, Herr General," Karl replied sincerely.

"At best an office of a trash company," Albert sneered. "Because this whole explanation is just it."

"Has the little private with the small moustache no crisis meetings?" Hogan asked. "No wonder that Germany's losing more and more ground." He walked around the makeshift desk and placed himself beside Langenscheidt – a gesture of solidarity that didn't go unnoticed by Burkhalter.

Ignoring the American for once, the general drove his attention back to Schultz, and snapped, "Did you find your voice again, or is Colonel Hogan now your mouthpiece?"

Hans felt his shock and fear melting away, and irritation awoke in him. First the general let them down by avoiding any contact, then he overwhelmed them with a thousand new POWs in the worst possible condition, the camp was spiraling downwards, and Burkhalter had the audacity to offend him after he had done the only thing possible to prevent a catastrophe from taking place in Stalag 13: Gathering all men together who could help.

Anger flushed in his face, while he straightened his large figure. "Herr General, I have the task of leading this camp at the moment – and that means making sure the POWs and our men have nourishment, shelter, and standard hygiene. Given the fact that we got a thousand more prisoners without any preparation in advance, I was forced to exhaust all possibilities to keep the camp functional. Those three men over there are from the construction industry, Sergeant Kinchloe knows a lot about sanitary engineering. Colonel Hogan has a bright mind and is able to find solutions for many problems like enlarging this camp within a short range of time and offering the newcomers at least something for their basic needs."

"I'm aware of Colonel Hogan's oh so often praised 'bright mind'," Burkhalter said sharply.

"Then I ask myself, why are you so surprised to find him here – in the middle of a meeting that is held to save the camp's day, so to say. Not only POWs are finding solutions, the leading non coms are also part of the emergency measures. Corporal Langenscheidt is in charge of enlarging the shower rooms, while Corporal Kleiber is responsible for the clearing of the woods in the south to make room for the new Barracks. Every one of those men, me included, are wracking our brains and working non-stop to keep this camp in function – something that wouldn't be necessary if you hadn't avoided us last week. And now you're asking me what is going on here, because I was forced to default to a few POWs who have the knowledge we need to make the impossible possible. Not all of them were soldiers before the war started like Colonel Hogan, but had civilian jobs useful for our current situation. By all respect, Herr General, I don't understand your irritation. We could use your help; not your rebuke."

Burkhalter's usual small eyes were round as baseballs by now. What the devil happened to the gauche, stammering, foolish Schultz? In front of him stood a strong man who knew exactly what he was doing and stood up for his decisions. Albert knew that the sergeant had led a toy factory prior to the war, and the manager and boss of said factory was now present despite wearing an uniform.

Closing the distance to Schultz, Burkhalter looked up at the slightly taller man, who returned his gaze unwaveringly. The general couldn't help himself; he had to pay Schultz some respect.

"You are aware that all of this here is against any protocol or law," He made an all-engrossing gesture. "It could be regarded as treason to allow a POW to make and receive calls from outside – or include them in official camp matters."

"Yes, I'm aware of it, Herr General," the large Bavarian replied calmly. "But I would do it again. Unusual events demand unusual solutions – and, like I have to point out again, we have a big emergency here because of the catastrophic condition the new prisoners are in and their high number. If we don't act on it – and quick – this camp is doomed and with it many, many men; prisoners and guards. My highest priority is to keep the men not only safe, but alive. Even if this could bring me to a court martial, I don't care for protocols and the book for once. We're all in the same boat now, and I don't care who wears which uniform. Everyone here in Stalag 13 has realized one thing: If we don't pull together, all will be lost. And believe me, I'm not exaggerating that statement."

For another very long time Burkhalter only looked at Schultz; pondering the options which had been left for him; arrest the man or support him? He turned towards the others, and his gaze rested on Hogan, who was tense, but also eerily calm. The colonel was in his element now. Plotting, scheming, improvising, finding solutions where none seemed to exist. Schultz was right. Hogan's unorthodox way of thinking made him perfect to approach problems – and the reason why the American was so dangerous. Burkhalter was not stupid. He knew that Hogan would use any given chance to turn a situation to his own advantage. He didn't dare imagine what the colonel demanded as payment for his help.

Again he became aware that Hogan stood beside Langenscheidt in a kind of silent support. Interesting. So, the colonel had not only developed friendships with Klink and Schultz, but also with the corporal. You could almost believe he had switched sides, but the moon would rather circle backwards than Hogan becoming a traitor. There was no doubt that the man was utterly loyal to his country and the Allies – a real patriot – yet he interacted kindly with a few of his jailers. Possibly to gain some own advantages, but mostly for his comrades. One couldn't force Hogan to do something he didn't want to do. And the colonel had one priority that outdid everything else: The health and safety of his men. If Hogan was ready to support the camp's commando structure, then it was only because he wanted to protect his fellows.

And the support the American was giving the camp now led the general to another thing; one that didn't allow any delay of elucidation. "Where did you learn to speak German so well, Hogan?" he asked firmly.

"You heard me during the telephone talk with the water pipe factory?" Robert remarked, and the general nodded.

"Ja. That was German in a high standard – something you can't learn within a few weeks."

"And yet it's exactly what happened," Hogan lied through his teeth. "Klink's a very good teacher, and…"

"Klink?" Burkhalter didn't trust his ears.

"Yes, Klink," the American officer reaffirmed. "I had some basic knowledge of your language and increased it during my captivity here. Yet I had to learn a lot – and Klink supported me. He gave me German literature while I was still healing in January and the beginning of February. He let me read out loud to him to correct my dialect, let me translate English texts into German and showed me the mistakes. There were even evenings in which he only spoke German – you learn a language quick and intense like that."

Burkhalter rubbed his jaw. "Interesting. He stated at the People's Court that you spoke little German, yet he was already teaching you properly for weeks. I ask myself why he both lied to the judge and taught you our language."

"Concerning his statement at the court, I can only assume that he didn't want to wake any suspect that Hochstetter's obsession with me was more than an obsession. If the judge had learned that I speak German, he maybe would have believed Hochstetter's insane accusations and set him free. And that would have led to him taking revenge on everyone – you included. You know how he ticked – he was so full of hate and loathing that nothing stopped him in his desire for vengeance. To lock him away was the best outcome for all – well, until he fled and tried to kill Klink."

"And he tried to kill you, too," Burkhalter reminded him before frowning. "Yet there is still the question of why Klink taught you proper German at all."

Hogan shrugged. "Maybe to give me a chance to understand you all better – or he has a good foresight. After we won the war, Germany will need years to recover, and an American officer who understands your language can be very helpful then."

The general had grimaced at Hogan's mentioning of 'winning the war', and scoffed, "Even if the Allies win, would you really be willing to help us afterwards?"

"The civilians and other victims of your sick regime? Sure," Hogan nodded. "Why shouldn't I help them – after all, they're suffering under the bubble brain and his henchmen and will continue to do so afterwards."

Even if Burkhalter shared one or the other opinion of Hogan's, he felt his face flushing now. This damn rascal couldn't help it. He had to taunt him and the other staff members. At that same moment, the telephone rang in the anteroom, and Hilda quickly returned to her desk. Answering the call, she listened and quickly hastened back into Klink's office.

"Herr General, I have your secretary on the line. She says it's urgent."

Frowning, Burkhalter pointed to the telephone on Klink's desk. "Put her through, please." Lifting the receiver after the first ring, he answered with forced politeness "Ja?" Then he listened – and paled more and more. "How much was damaged?" He nodded slowly and gulped. "Is it over now or…?" He listened again and took a deep breath. "I understand. Thank you for calling me." He placed the receiver back on the phone and turned around to expecting faces. "There was a large air raid against the OKH near Zossen."

"The High Command of the Army?" Schultz asked, perplexed. "The very same base where you, Oberst Klink, Oberleutnant Schmidt, Little Manfred, and I stopped at after the mess in Berlin?"

Burkhalter nodded. "Yes. US bombers attacked the area, but also 'lost' bombs over Wünsdorf and Zossen. Another attack was flown against one of our marshalling areas in Berlin-Oranienburg. It's not clear how much was damaged or if the base is still functional."

He turned his glance towards Hogan, who simply looked back. For once, the American didn't comment an attack of the Allies. Unusual. And without his own doing, unbidden thoughts went through Burkhalter's mind. 'Did you know about this? Did you know that our OKH is in Zossen and informed the Allies – or did you at least know about this upcoming attack? Are you responsible for this air raid? Are you indeed the man Hochstetter presumed for almost two years? Are you Papa Bear?' He inwardly shook his head. Now he was becoming as paranoid as Hochstetter had been. Hogan was a POW in Stalag 13; locked away behind wires, cut off from the outer world except for a few visits to the doctor or tasks he had been given while guarded.

He took another deep breath in. "Well, we can't change anything about it – but we can change this chaos here back into some order." He turned his attention to Schultz. "Give me an exact report of the current status, Sergeant. Then we'll see what we can do about it."

Hogan let out a deep breath of air. That had been a close call again – and he was glad that Burkhalter accepted his explanation for now.

*** HH ***

The air raid against the OHK had been a full success. The base was hindered in staying completely functional. Even if the high-tech communication room was installed under the surface, the bombs damaged enough to interrupt communications between fighting troops and the leading staff for a few days, which ensured the next planned steps of the Allies.

Yet the attack wasn't without an unwanted 'side effect'. Clear target detection wasn't possible at those times. Bombs fell uncontrollably after they were unlocked from the aircrafts. More than 120 people died nearby Wünsdorf and little Zossen. More than a third of all houses were gravely damaged or burnt down. The civilians, who didn't know about the secret Wehrmacht base near their door steps, were caught by utter surprise and unprotected contraire to the soldiers and officers in the OHK. There were no bunkers in the two locations…

*** HH ***

Burkhalter tried to push the thoughts of the attack against one of the most important Wehrmacht commando rooms out of his mind, and concentrated on the problems in camp. Together with the others, he gathered around Klink's desk, listened closely to the given reports. After a quarter hour, he had to admit that Schultz had indeed done the only thing possible. They could only stem the problems together – problems which seemed to increase by the hour.

Lack of hygiene, men penned up in too small spaces, serious sick cases, not enough water to stay clean, nourishment for only a week, outrunning of coal and wet wood left… One problem was bigger than the next one. Schultz had been right. The danger that everything would fall apart was high. Yet Schultz (Hogan, in Burkhalter's opinion) and a few others had come up with a few ideas and already partly acted on them. Hogan had set up Schmidt's influence to get a new generator, and the general had listened to the telephone talk between the colonel and the Oberleutnant. The new generator was to be expected in the evening.

Hogan's suggestion to build a cistern was crazy, but logical. It was necessary in order to enlarge the shower rooms and keep up with the standard hygiene in the camp, but he saw problems in rising new Barracks.

Most material that had been delivered had been used for the roof of the new 'mess hall' or would integrated in the new shower rooms. The second convoy with material hadn't arrived until now – and it would never come.

The material had been stocked near Dortmund, and after the heavy air raid three days ago, the stock had fallen prey to the flames, which still raged in the immensely damaged town. He had spoken with Hauptmann Zumrode on Wednesday only to find the whole cargo gone. To source replacement was anything but easy. If there were a few things that were needed everywhere in Germany, it was construction material and nourishment.

"I can't change it, Hogan," Burkhalter snapped frustrated, as the American became irritated. "When your comrades set the stuff you need in camp aflame, it's hardly my fault!"

Robert threw up his hands in anger and resignation. He knew that the general was right – that Burkhalter was not to blame for the loss of needed material. Combing his fingers through his already tousled dark hair, he sighed. "If you would have at least answered Schultz's attempts to reach you, we could have…"

"I thought he wanted to complain about the new Kommandant, and I really had no time…"

"What happened to him, by the way?" Hans asked.

Burkhalter's face turned sour. "He defected," he murmured, barely loud enough to be understood.

"What?" That time it were Hogan's eyes that became the size of saucers.

"You heard me," the Austrian officer snapped, upset with the fleeing officer. "The guy defected. His driver returned to Berlin completely outraged with his superior. Von Friedrichstein thought he wouldn't be able to live up to Klink's record of no escapes and feared consequences. He also feared the challenge of leading a POW camp with little nourishment and above all, a lot of new prisoners in bad condition. He thought he wasn't up to the task, so he ran." He shook his head. "The nerve."

Hogan couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. "Well, now you know what you have with Klink."

"Yes, a nuisance with a far too big heart and an unbelievable record of no escapes. And I ask myself again how he does it."

Robert shrugged. "Iron fist, hard…"

"Stop with the nonsense, Hogan. We both know that Klink is anything but the tough Kommandant he presents himself as." He glanced down at the construction plans of the shower rooms and cistern. "Maybe that's the real key to his success."

A knock came to the door, and Hilda peeked her head in. "Sirs, Dr. Birkhorn is here," she announced.

"Please, bring him in," Burkhalter said, and rose.

Birkhorn entered, greeted the general, and as a chair was offered to him, he gave Hogan a tiny nod. All sick men had gotten the first shot of penicillin. Giving Burkhalter a status report, the staff officer looked rather taken aback as he heard how serious many cases were.

He thanked the surgeon for his help, asked him to send his invoice to the camp, then accompanied the doctor to the door. Afterwards, he and the others discussed the few options left concerning the current situation. It was early afternoon when Burkhalter called for a break and left the Kommandantur with Hogan. Many POWs were still busy digging a large hole near the shower rooms for the cistern. They would need cement for it, and the general was relieved that at least that problem had been already solved by Schultz. Sacks with sand, limestone, and buckets to mix everything with water would be delivered within two days. Yet it was only one detail of many.

Burkhalter was shocked as he took a closer look at the sick newcomers, but also at more than a hundred 'healthy' men from Camp 64 who were exhausted, half-starved, and suffered sore and bleeding feet. Most of them slept, others rested or lay there without realizing their surroundings. And there was something else that took the general by surprise. Yes, the usual POWs of Stalag 13 took care of the newcomers, but there were also guards who helped.

With dread, he glanced down at Evan Martins – the boy who had almost been killed by one of Hartmann's men. A living skeleton who trembled even in sleep. He was so weak that his brother had to steady his head when he was fed. Albert knew that he shouldn't feel any compassion. It would be regarded as treason and weakness if anybody of the Führer's inner circle learned of it. But Burkhalter had saved some humanity in him, and the sight of so much misery and suffering touched him. Especially given the fact that the affected person was a mere boy of eighteen years. Far too young – like so many 'men' who now fought in this damn war.

Stepping out into the compound, the Austrian officer took a deep breath and looked at Hogan, who stood beside him. He knew that no one in Berlin would agree with him – would even call him a traitor – but for once he didn't care.

"You were right," he said quietly. "You and Schultz. What happened to these men was a crime – an example of incredible cruelness." He glanced over the yard where POWs were still doing the laundry. "I would supply them with new clothes, good food, and medicine if I could." He looked back at Hogan. "But I can't. There is not much left anymore. I drove through Hammelburg before I came here. The town is flooded with refugees from the east – our own people, who partly lived there for generations. They are in no better condition than those men. And they all have one thing in common: Hunger. Hunger, despair, infected wounds, and fear. And they're all traumatized. I'm sorry, Hogan, but there is not much I can do to help your new comrades."

Robert watched Burkhalter closely and saw that the man was serious. He truly regretted everything, and he would help if he could, but a naked man had no pocket.

"Why did you send them to Stalag 13?" he asked softly. "Even if you would have answered Schultz's call last week, there wasn't enough time to prepare everything, and you know it."

The general snorted. "Heinrich wanted to send them to the north – to a camp that was 300 kilometers more away than Stalag 13. It belongs to the Heer and guarded by the Totenkopf-SS. I learned that there were dozens of losses among the POWs of Camp 64 and that they were in bad condition. 300 kilometers more would have meant a lot more death cases. When I see those men over there now," he nodded towards the infirmary and casino, "I'm convinced that half of them wouldn't have made it. But even before I saw with my own eyes their bad state, I knew that they had to be exhausted and ill. So I decided to intervene – to help them in the only way I could: By taking them into the responsibility of the Luftwaffe and under my protection. I know the term 'protection' is a bit overestimated, but at least I tried to keep the POWs under my authority safe." He pressed shortly his lips into a thin line. "And I sailed hard at the wind, so to say, as I ordered the train for those men. Usually only the Führer now decides about something like this, because every left train is a resource that's desperately needed."

Hogan watched the other man again. Burkhalter looked tired, and Robert knew why; everything was going down not only for Germany, but for the rest of humanity that Berlin had showed. Even that had now ended, and it had rattled Burkhalter, who saw in the Conventions a book of honor.

Pursing his lips, the colonel replied. "If there's one positive thing I can say about you, then it's the fact that you took the Geneva Conventions to heart and tried to shield us against the regime's despotism. Yes, you used our camp for weapon tests and secret meetings that you knew the Allies would have attacked if it wouldn't be for our presence, yet you made certain that nothing serious happened to us. You're no angel – far from it – but you're no cold blooded man who doesn't care for other humans more than the dirt beneath his fingernails." He glanced over the compound towards Barracks 2, remembering the many talks in the Kommandantur he had eavesdropped on via the 'coffee pot'. "Sometimes you can even be funny," he said, with a soft curl of his mouth.

Burkhalter frowned and said not too seriously, "Let me guess: A compliment."

Hogan shrugged. "Sort of." He turned his attention back to the opponent officer, face and eyes serious and honest. "You're not a bad man. You know how to use advantages and try your limits over and over again – and you wear the wrong uniform…but you saved some humanity. Deep down, you're not evil." 'Cowardly, but that's another story,' Robert added, in thought.

Albert took a deep breath, uncertain of what to make from the younger man's words. "That coming from you is certainly a compliment," he answered hesitantly. "I know that you loathe the German officers, and you make no secret of your great dislike concerning our regime, yet you differ between fascists, men and women who only obey orders and…the other people. Those you regard as innocent. And you're willing to protect civilians." He smiled. "You're not so bad of a man yourself – despite that you wear in my eyes the wrong uniform."

Hogan had to laugh. "Touché," he said with a grin. For a long moment, both men only enjoyed the fresh air. It seemed to become a little bit warmer – now, in the middle of March, when the winter began to retreat from North Bavaria.

Burkhalter watched a few of the new POWs returning from the shower rooms wearing only two blankets and shoes. Usual prisoners of Stalag 13 carried heaps of dirty and torn clothes towards the front of the Barracks where the laundry was made. What a mess.

"I want to speak with the newcomers' senior POW officer, Lt. Colonel Connor," he said to Hogan. "I have to talk with him about everything that happened during this 'transfer'. I ordered that Hartmann remain in the Gestapo-HQ until I'm done with the investigation. I think the Lt. Colonel's statements together with what I saw here will be enough for my report. Do you know where he's accommodated?"

"Yes, in Klink's quarters," Hogan informed him, and began to head towards the small building.

"WHAT?" Burkhalter, who had been about to follow him, stopped dead in his tracks and blinked like an owl at him.

The colonel stopped and turned around. "We ran out of space, so he offered the two highest ranking POW officers of this camp to stay in his quarters to keep protocol at least a little bit. Oh, and there is also Connor's confi…"

"Did I get that right?" The Austrian officer gasped. "The two highest ranking POW officers? In other words, you're staying there, too? Again?"

Robert put on his best innocent face while he shrugged. "Someone must staying with Klink because of his injury. It was the fundamental prerequisite for him being transferred from the infirmary back to his own quarters. And after he took care of me, it was only right that I do the same for him now." He continued his way, and Burkhalter followed him flabbergasted.

Half a minute later, both men stepped into the house that was heavenly peaceful. It smelled of lunch and tea, yet the air was fresh. And it was quiet – very quiet. As the two officers walked deeper into the living room, they heard soft snoring from the guestroom, and as Burkhalter gave Hogan an asking glance, the younger man nodded.

Albert stopped at the threshold of the guestroom and peeked inside. A man in the middle of his thirties lie deep asleep in bed wearing white clothes. Beside him was an older man in a nightgown and snored, one arm draped around his companion in a fatherly way. Both were shaved, and their hair was cut contraire to many other newcomers Burkhalter had seen. Yet they looked bad with their thin bodies, sunken cheeks, and pale faces. Looking over his shoulder at Hogan, he lifted a questioning brow.

"The older man is Staff Sergeant Elison. He's Connor's godfather," Robert felt compelled to explain, and the general nodded in understanding. Quietly, Burkhalter drew back, sighed, and walked to the bedroom. He rose both brows as he saw the field bed that was placed beside the regular bed. So, Hogan slept here? Well, where else?

Klink turned around as he heard the door opening, and to Burkhalter's surprise and even inner delight, he watched the Oberst sitting up; still pale and with slow movements, yet the shadow of the Grim Reaper had left.

"Herr General," Will greeted him and lifted his right hand towards his temple.

Burkhalter was not aware that he smiled. "At ease, Klink. You're in bed. No need to salute." He entered the sleeping room. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, yet my stupid body doesn't want to obey and rebels every time I rise," Wilhelm sighed.

"The reason why you ought to stay in bed," Robert commented, and closed the door behind him to give them privacy. "Sorry that I missed lunch, but the general, Schultz, a few others, and I had a lot to talk about."

"For example, how it comes that Hogan speaks far better German than you led on – or why he technically shares the position of Kommandant with Schultz," Burkhalter grumbled.

Hogan groaned. "I told you that Klink taught me your language very well, and Schultz explained that we have to work together now to find solutions for the prob…"

"I know, I know," Burkhalter said, waving the American's statement off.

But Klink had understood the hidden message Robert had given him. He knew now what happened in his office and how his witty fox once again had pulled his head out of the noose. So, he taught Hogan to speak proper German. Okay, he would play along. Giving Burkhalter his full attention, he said, "I'm surprised LeBeau didn't tell me about your arrival, Herr General. And in early midday. You must have left Berlin early."

"Yes, fortunately, otherwise I would have been caught in the middle of another air raid this morning. They attacked Mayb…Zossen. Can you imagine that? Somehow they found out about the 'cottages' there and attacked."

Will needed all his self-control to not give himself away and stopped himself from looking at Hogan. So, London had acted on the given information and attacked the High Command. Well, it was expected, yet Klink felt some unease. "Good grief…" he said, the surprise not completely a pretense. "Do you know more details?"

"No, not until now, but they hit the whole area. Communications is lost, and a few of the underground rooms have been damaged."

"Maybe your staff officers in there will get some fresh air now – then they have it better than the bubble beard; still sitting in some reeking bunker and…" Hogan's mockery was interrupted by a sharp,

"Hogan!" Burkhalter looked over his shoulder at the colonel. "We just had a nice talk outside in the compound. Don't ruin it now."

Robert gave him a lopsided smile. "I said that you're not so bad; I never spoke of your colleagues. If they get a roasting – in this case literally – I certainly won't complain about it."

The general grimaced and pointed at the door. "Out."

Crush cap in hand, Hogan cocked his head. "But…"

"OUT! Or I'll begin to ask you questions you'll really not like," Burkhalter threatened.

Pouting, Robert placed his cap back on his head and opened the door. "Just as you want, General. But the fresh air is true, you know. It's better for straight thinking and…"

"One more word, Hogan, and I'll escort you in person to the cooler."

Shrugging one shoulder and giving the Austrian a sloppy salute, he left while grinning madly as the door closed behind him. It was always fun to goad the fat Sacher cake.

Hearing that the snoring in the guestroom had stopped and was replaced with hushed voices, Hogan went to Connor and Elison to give them an update.

*** HH ***HH ***

First Lieutenant Claus Muller, belonging to the 69th US Division of the 3rd Army, carefully watched his surroundings. The town lay in ruins and seemed to be sans of any life except for a few members of the Volkssturm and Wehrmacht here and there. They saluted into his and his comrades' direction, replying with the same gesture.

"It's odd to wear those uniforms," Second Lieutenant Hansen murmured beside him, before he concentrated on the street they were passing through. "And the gears of this stupid car are even odder. And here I thought Mercedes was such a good car company."

"Lack of repair," Muller said quietly. "Germany is bleeding out completely."

Behind him two other infantrymen grumbled their agreement, while they glanced at their superior in Wehrmacht grey.

They had seized Trier with only two divisions – a mission that was ought to need four divisions. As the order had come in, Trier had already fallen and Patton, whose sarcastic and sometimes very hot temper was well-known, had asked wryly if he should return the town to the Germans and wait for the other divisions as reinforcement to conquer the town anew. Most of his officers had laughed. London hadn't been amused.

From Trier they had conquered the whole area of the Moselle valley. Any town they seized was not only a threat less to the Allies, but the crazy thing was that many German civilians greeted them with open arms and beaming faces. Rumors spread through the troops of Hitler's newest orders – kin liability for every family whose son, father, or uncle didn't fight 'til the last breath. More and more it became clear that the people's enemy were their own executive powers now, and most of the civilians regarded the US troops as liberators. No one had thought this would've happened, but the people seemed to be glad that the war was over for them.

The same went for the members of the Wehrmacht, Waffen-SS, and Volkssturm, who surrendered in flocks in Trier and along the Moselle. With beaming faces, they went towards the US soldiers, weapons harmlessly lifted over their heads, handed over the guns, and went towards captivity with relief.

At first Muller and his comrades had thought those 'damn Nazi swines' would taunt them, but it became clear that those who surrendered did it out of conviction and were happy to be 'freed' from the inhumane rules within their own troops. And, as it had turned out, not many people in Trier sympathized with the Nazis.

The 69th Division had reached the northern part of Coblenz six days ago and seized those town parts quickly. The Moselle River stopped the advance, and the downtown, with its transship station and town offices, were still in German hands.

Using fake fog, Patton crossed the Moselle on March 13th and 14th, but he didn't attack the town immediately. Orders had been given to prepare forays to seize the area of the Hunsrück (the southern part of the Eifel-hills) and to wait for the 87th Infantry Division.

Patton used the given time for training and to gather information about the town he would share with the commanding officer of the 87th Infantry Division, Major General Culin.

Because of the given orders to evacuate Coblenz for the remaining civilians, those men and women (and some Wehrmacht and Volkssturm members who used the chance to desert) had no other way to go than to the west and south – running partly into Patton's hands.

Like this he had gotten the chance to question them and learned of the anarchic circumstances within the town. Patton was not known for handling enemies mildly, but even he was not ready to raid a city that already lay in ruins. To gain more details about the city's layout, he ordered officers and non-coms of German heritage to make a scouting expedition through Coblenz two days later masked as members of the Wehrmacht.

He had chosen Muller, Hansen, and two non-coms to creep into Coblenz to recon the current local situation. They got the uniforms from German POWs, who even gave them on their own free will as they learned that the GIs wanted to spare the town if it wasn't a threat. Using a seized German staff car, Muller and three other men had driven to Coblenz. They bypassed German watch posts without any trouble and finally reached Downtown Coblenz.

Muller and his men roamed through the town for a few hours, and they couldn't deny that they were shocked with what they found. There seemed to barely be a house standing anymore. Even the hospital had burned down completely because it was located near the locomotive depot that had been under attack a few times. Medical staff and casualties were usually a taboo, yet the bombs had found them nonetheless in January – just like the two hospitals in Dresden or the great one in Munich. The historical part of town was not any less damaged, and the same went for the station that was still usable…even if only two railroads remained intact.

The town was done for. There were as good as no civilians anymore, and the dozens of groups consisting of Wehrmacht and Volkssturm members seemed to not know what to do. But one thing unsettled the four Americans in German uniform.

"Sweet Lord, kids!" Hansen breathed suddenly, and Muller turned his head to the left side to look out of the car's window. It was true. There were approximately ten kids clearing the entrance to a wrecked building.

Yes, within the last few days (and weeks), the US troops had captured boys from the Hitlerjugend, and since the order had been given that everyone who was born in 1929 had to join the Wehrmacht or Volkssturm, the number of teens among the POWs were growing, but to see them now firsthand doing far too hard of work for their age was troublesome. Especially given the fact that the boys were armed, but barely knew what the front and the back of a rifle was.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "Those boys belong on a school bank; not at the Front."

"What now?" Hansen asked.

"Colonel Hudson ordered for us to look out for child soldiers should it come to combat. Now we…"

"Careful, one's coming our way," one of the non-coms murmured.

A rather small boy of maybe fourteen or fifteen headed towards them, stopped beside the car, and saluted hesitantly.

Hansen, who drove the car, wound the car's window down, and Muller bent forwards to look around his comrade at the boy.

"Ja?" he asked neutrally.

The boy gulped and addressed him with utmost politeness in German, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Herr Leutnant, but we were told that this outpost should be cleared 'til the highest level. Yet the stairs to it are very damaged, and…and we think they won't withstand dozens of armed soldiers. Shall we continue nonetheless?"

Muller gritted his teeth. He spoke and understood German very well – his grandparents had come from Osnabrück to the US fifty years ago, and at home they always spoke German, even if his parents had switched to English after his father had married an American girl thirty years ago. Therefore, to answer in Germen wouldn't be a problem, but the order he had to give could lead to trouble if it wasn't in consent with the Wehrmacht's plan.

Clearing his throat, he answered in plain German, "Continue your task until you reach the level before the stairs are damaged. Another officer will have a closer look at it later."

The boy saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Leutnant."

It would have been the best moment to continue his way and dismiss the boy, but something held Muller back. These were kids playing war games – or were forced to be here. Here, in a place that was far too sinister and deadly for half-grown teens. And if he and his comrades wanted to spare them as much as possible, he had to know more details. The boy could give them just that.

"How many of you are here?" he asked.

The boy threw a short look back over his shoulder before he answered, "Ten, Herr Leutnant."

"And how many of your boys are here in town?"

The youth frowned. "We…we almost have 200; we were transferred here six days ago."

Muller controlled his features. God dammit. If he had counted and calculated the number of German soldiers correctly, then those kids made a fifth of the whole 'troop'. He saw the confusion on the boy's face and realized that the teen was bemused that he, a Leutnant of the stationed Wehrmacht, didn't know how many boys had been sent to Coblenz.

Time to lie. "200?" He looked backwards at one of his companions. "Then you were right when you guessed their number. You won the bet."

"A pleasure," the GI commented, knowing that his superior was making up a story.

Muller turned his attention back to the kid. "The other defense stations are prepared?"

"I only know that Heinrich Schenkel and his comrades are preparing the corner house on the next street and that Eberhard Hetzel is doing the same with his troop two streets in that direction." He pointed to the right. "The rest is preparing Fort Konstantin, Herr Leutnant, like ordered."

Fort Konstantin – a bastion in the east of the town near the central cemetery; raised on the base of a former abbey. It had been strongly damaged in WWI, but it hadn't been razed like originally planned. It had been spared because it was – like the Castle Ehrenbreitstein on the other side of the Rhine River – defining the cityscape.

Now, during WWII, it had become important for the town again, as in 1944 a commanding center had been established there. It also served for the ARP after bunkers had been integrated into the fort. The ARP-HQ had been given up a few days ago, yet it was the only strong stand against the planned attack of the Allies. Now Muller learned from the German teen that said fort would serve as a post of defense – a well-fortified post on a hill with thick walls. Heavy artillery would be necessary to overcome this station of defense.

"Well done, son," Muller said. "You and your comrades are a great help to us."

The boy, unaware of those words' double-meaning, dared to smile. "Thank you, Herr Leutnant. I'll pass your compliment along to the others." He hesitated before asking, "SS-Hauptmann Glockner told us that the combat lies directly ahead. Do you know when the Americans will attack?" He sounded strong and brave, but the fear in the boy's round blue eyes didn't slip Claus' attention.

"Certainly soon. They won't wait for long." He took a deep breath, and his next words came over his lips without his own doing. "Take care of yourself."

True surprise was shown on the boy's face mixed with something close to joy. They were the first kind words he had heard in days. "The same for you, Herr Leutnant."

Muller nodded and waved his hand. "As you were."

"Yes, sir – and be safe," the kid answered, shouldered his rifle, and jogged back towards the others, only to stop after a few steps, turned around, and hastily gave him the Hitler greeting while flushing.

Muller returned the gesture, then Hansen wound up the car window, and they continued their way.

"Holy shit," the lieutenant cursed. "Those are simple, half-grown kids – and in the center of approaching combat. I could vomit."

"The boy was no Nazi," Hansen murmured. "He even forgot the stupid greeting gesture."

Muller nodded, then he slapped his hand against his forehead. "I'm a fool. The boy could have told us where this boy is Colonel Hudson agreed to get out if possible. Maximilian Schultz."

"Maybe it's better that you didn't ask him, sir," Hansen replied. "The boy was baffled enough that you wanted to know how many kids are here."

Claus shrugged. "Patton wants as much details as possible, and to learn that approximately a fifth of the whole German defense here consists of boys is certainly something he needs to know." He pursed his lips. "The boy can't be older than thirteen or fourteen. He was smaller than his comrades – and smaller than any other boy at the age of fifteen or sixteen should be. He belongs home; not in the middle of rising combat." He gritted his teeth. "These Krauts are insane."

Hansen sighed. He knew that his superior liked children and had a weak spot for their suffering even within Germany. As they conquered Trier, he had made certain that the pint sizes were treated kindly and got chocolate from the troops' own stock. The same happened in the little towns and villages they had conquered during their way down the Moselle. And now he was furious with finding kids preparing to fight in battle. Hansen could understand him, but these teens here were armed, and they had to be careful.

To distract Muller, he asked, "What do you think about Fort Konstantin? What if the Krauts build a strong bastion of defense there and…"

"Turn the car. We'll have a closer look at it."

The two GIs in the backseat glanced with unease at each other, but kept silent. Patton needed details, and details he would get.

Muller leaned back in the passenger seat and looked out at the ruins they were bypassing. "Be safe, kiddo," he murmured. "I'm sure somewhere waits your Mom to take you in her arms again."

Back in the street down, Frank had watched Max talking with the officers in the car and jogging back before he remembered to give the correct greeting, made it hastily, then finally returned to him and the others.

"What did the Leutnant say?" Frank asked.

Max sighed. "We should continue 'til the level beneath the damaged one. Another officer will have a closer look at the destroyed part later." He glanced at the other boys, who groaned, nodded, and returned to work.

Frank lowered his voice. "What did the Leutnant want from you? He spoke longer with you than necessary."

Shrugging, Schultzie's youngest son murmured, "He asked about our work here and how far we are with the preparations." He smiled for a moment. "He was really kind – wished us to be safe and thanked us for our help." He bit his lips. "I really hope he survives the upcoming battle. When I think of the other officers we have the 'honor' to meet…" He shook his head and looked down the street where the car vanished. He rubbed his dirty head. "Something was odd about him," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" His friend asked curiously.

"I don't know…Something was…strange. And then his kindness…" He sighed and waved his own thoughts off. "Forget it, sometimes I'm the one who's odd."

"The reason why you're my best friend," Frank teased.

Max laughed and clapped his upper arm. "Thanks a lot," he grinned, then turned serious again. "Come on; the others are waiting for us." He returned into the building, but the kind Leutnant didn't leave his mind.

TBC…

Well, neither Max nor Mueller are going to realize how much fate is pulling the strings until it technically screams in their faces. Mueller's scouting of the town and Max unknowing first contact with an American will lead to something fateful soon. By the way, Coblenz was indeed explored by a few US-officers with German roots like it was described within the story. This and the whole background are historical.

In the next chapter, Burkhalter will meet Connor and Elison, and after the two learn how cheekily Hogan pulls the general's leg at any given opportunity, they become even more distrusting. Something is going on in Stalag 13, this much they know – and it's up to Hogan and Klink to reveal the big secret. Furthermore, Burkhalter stumbles over something else that will tick him off…

I hope you liked the new chapter, including the more funny scenes, but also the gentle ones and the more serious ones, like Mueller finding the boy he's ought to get to safety without learning that the kid in question and the 'helpful' teen are one and the same person.

Like always, I would love to get some feedback.

Have a good start into the next week,

Love

Yours Starflight