Hi, my dear readers,

I hope, you all are well and that the lockdowns everywhere don't give you too much trouble. I know, what a big burden it is to be stuck at home instead of going to work – especially the financial problems which rise now more and more. Yet I think there is a light at the end of the tunnel, so to say. In Germany, more and more shops are allowed to open again now; my praxis can be opened at the 4th May again – I'm soooo happy about it. And I cross my fingers that everyone of you has some positive prospects for the near future, too.

Thanks for the feedback you gave me for the last chapter. And now comes something you all waited for: Connor and the others learn of the Stalag 13th secret.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 87 – Incredible surprises

Burkhalter met Connor and Elison for the first time a quarter hour later. He talked with Klink about Hartmann's behavior the day prior, exchanged military news with him, then left the bedroom only to hear Hogan's voice talking with two other men in the guestroom.

For a moment he listened, but there was nothing interesting for him. The two unfamiliar voices spoke of Camp 64, while Hogan asked some questions concerning the camp's life to compare it with the daily routine in Stalag 13. Burkhalter knew that Camp 64 had been guarded in a rather lax way as long as the prisoners obeyed direct orders. Oberst Schneider, the camp's Kommandant, had left them alone. There were rumors that Schneider had lost an argument, because the highest ranking POW officer at the time had ditched him, saying he would only talk with him when Schneider would treat him with the polite respect that was usual among officers. Afterwards, there was a semi-peace between guards and POWs that more or less ruled the daily routine. If he didn't know any better, Burkhalter could have sworn that Schneider and Klink were relatives.

What happened to the POWs of Camp 64 after the evacuation had been the straight opposite. They had faced not only harsh treatment, but had been brutalized, and Burkhalter was glad that the men found a new kind of refugium in Stalag 13, prison camp or not. Because Klink and Schultz both led this little world inside of the wires in an all too humane way.

After a minute of listening to the conversation inside the guestroom, Burkhalter decided there was nothing of interest to waste his valuable time with and went to the second sleeping room while making himself noticeable. The talking stopped the moment he appeared at the doorstep. Hogan sat in a chair, while the other two men were still in bed. Connor sat, and Elison had supported himself on one underarm.

The colonel rose as the general entered the room. The two other Americans were about to do the same – protocol was protocol – but Burkhalter lifted one hand to stop them. "At ease, gentlemen. No need for strict formalities. Not at the moment."

"Lt. Colonel Ryan Connor," the younger man introduced himself, then gestured to his godfather. "My ordonnance and confidant Staff Sergeant Bryan Elison."

"General Albert Burkhalter," the Austrian officer replied, and nodded at the two men before crossing his hands on his back.

"So it was you who ordered a train to pick us up – and saved a few of my men their lives," Connor said. "Thank you, General. Despite the fact that we're fighting on opposite sides, be assured of my gratefulness. You were the first within almost seven weeks who showed some humanity towards us."

Burkhalter looked at the floor as if he was embarrassed. Hogan knew him well enough that there had to be a lot to make the man act bashful, but for once he recognized a true sheepish reaction from the Wehrmacht staff officer, and it made him thoughtful. Robert assumed that the general didn't receive sincere gratefulness often.

"As I heard of your fate and discerned your true condition out of Hartmann's words, I knew that I had to act on it. What has been done to you and your men was…not right. It was…" Albert searched for the right words to tell him what he was really thinking without becoming a traitor towards his regime. "It was inhumane – and a shame how the Geneva Conventions were flouted. Usually officers treat each other with some respect and follow the book, which was denied to you and your men." He sighed. "I also regret the loss of so many of your comrades. Please accept my condolences."

Connor watched him carefully. "As far as I'm concerned, I accept your condolences, but I can't speak for the dead men's families. We hadn't even a chance to inform our relatives that we were transferred, and I think most of our dear ones still think us to be in Camp 64 – imprisoned, but at least safe. For all of them it will be a shock to learn what happened; especially those families who lost a son, brother, or father because of this 'evacuation'."

Burkhalter nodded. There was a sad expression in his eyes. Hogan wasn't sure if the man felt compassion or if he tried to present himself in a better light. On the other hand, the general had no reason to pretend understanding. Maybe the fear for his wife two and a half week ago had made it clear even to him how painful war could be when its cruelty was experienced firsthand.

Taking a deep breath, the Austrian glanced back at the younger man on the bed. "The files of you and your men were saved this morning after Hartmann's driver, who transported them, had an accident yesterday evening. I'm sure Interims-Kommandant Schultz will make a census of everyone and compare them with the files. I'll order him to make a list with your names, ranks, and birthdays along with a list of those who fled or died…"

"Were killed, you mean," Connor cut in.

Sighing, Albert grimaced. "I know – and I'll come later to that. When those three lists are made, I will send them to the Red Cross in Munich so that they can be transferred to London. Like that your families will be informed, even if the military postal service is interrupted at the moment. Usually we have a separate office that transfers information about POWs to their home countries, but it's in Thuringia and about to be closed because of the advancing Red Army. And the Geneva Conventions are…technically suspended from German side so that information exchanges are cancelled. I'm sorry to be forced to admit this, but it's true. The Führer doesn't feel obliged anymore to follow rules that were developed to protect members of opponent armies. Therefore, all I can offer you is to send those lists to the Red Cross and ask them to give them to London. Even with that I lean myself wide out the window."

Elison and Connor frowned, not sure what the general meant with his last words.

Hogan made a face and translated. "General Burkhalter means that he puts his head over the parapet. The German equivalent is 'sich weit aus dem Fenster lehnen' – means to lean wide out the window. There is the danger of losing balance and to fall – in his case, the latter can be understood figurative. There was a big disagreement between the German regime and Switzerland, so Hitler disregards the Red Cross now. And the German staff, as far as I heard, is tearing each other apart, because any failure is regarded by the tiny private as a personal mistake or offense against himself. And for those reasons, the general is risking a lot by sending your personal information to the Red Cross."

Burkhalter stared at him and threw his hands up. "Thank you for the translation, Hogan, but the last part was not necessary."

Innocently, Robert looked at him. "But it's true, isn't it? Your staff members are at each other's throats and…"

"Yes, but even if so I…" Albert stopped himself, eyes wide. "No, that's not true." He corrected himself hastily. "Rumors. Nothing more than rumors." He frowned. "And how the hell did you hear about that at all?"

Instantly Hogan came up with an explanation, twisting truth and fantasy like so often while relying on the hope that the other man didn't remember the details he quoted.

"General, you said yourself during your last visits that the mood in Berlin is down to zero, and I can imagine what that means – especially when you consider your leader's character. Hitler is well-known for his choleric temper. He's a narcist, and above all sports a massive inferiority complex. Not to speak of his paranoia. Of course, he regards every mistake from others or any change of tables as a personal attack against him. The orders he gave within the last few days are insane at best. Who sends kids to the Front or threatens them and other young men with kin liability if they're not ready to let themselves be killed? The man is a lunatic through and through, and in his raging hate he doesn't differ between enemy, friend, alley, and supporter anymore. So, I appreciate your willingness to take certain risks by informing London about the survivals of Camp 64 and contacting the Red Cross. Thank you, General."

Burkhalter looked absolutely uncomfortable now. He hadn't considered the risk he eventually took by interacting with the Red Cross for more than human support, but to give them information about POWs. But he had made an offer. And even if he was often a coward, he followed the old officer codex of honor. A word was a word, and he stood to it.

Nodding, he stayed silent for a few seconds before he addressed Connor. "I saw how much your men suffered and how seriously ill many of them are. I visited the infirmary and the makeshift sickbays before I came to Oberst Klink's quarters. I was informed by Interims-Kommandant Schultz and Colonel Hogan about SS-Major Hartmann's misdeeds, but I need your report to make my own for Berlin. So…"

"Due all respect, General, but do you really think someone in Berlin will take action against our tormentor? You said it yourself, your regime technically suspended the Geneva Conventions. And without its protection, we're fair game for every member of the SS or Wehrmacht."

"Yet there are still other rules which apply," Burkhalter replied. "Hartmann is responsible for the violent deaths of more than 150 men. That goes against regulations. Did I understand it correctly that your men didn't try to flee, but were simply too exhausted to continue?"

Connor nodded. "Yes, that's correct. In the first two days more than a hundred of us were able to escape. Then the SS took over, and there was no flight possible anymore. Everyone who died afterwards was killed in cold blood or died because of exhaustion."

Burkhalter swore beneath his breath. "Heinrich will learn of this – even if I think it doesn't matter to him much anymore. He changed a lot…"

"Heinrich?" Connor asked, bewildered.

"The top banana of the club with the jagged double rune," Hogan deadpanned.

"HOGAN!" Burkhalter snapped, and gave him a glare before he shook his head and drove his attention back to Connor. "The Reichsführer and I have known each other for years and are friends. When I tell him of what happened to your men, I'm sure he'll take the appropriate action."

"As long as he doesn't give Hartmann a medal…" the colonel commented wryly.

"You really want to push the limits today, do you?" Albert asked sharply.

Hogan shrugged and gave him a short grin. "You know me."

"Yes, and I have to admit that I pity your direct superior. He can be grateful that we captured you. He's had a slack period for almost three years now," the general taunted.

"Oh, not only he, but we all would have a slack period if the bubble-brain in Berlin hadn't started to play warlord and tried to gain leadership of the whole world. But it's typical for tiny-framed men. They all hope to become 'great' by starting a war. Just think of Napoleon."

Burkhalter gave him a sour look before he suddenly smirked. It was not a kind smile. "I have an idea to busy your mind with something else than think of new ways to insult our government. Get some sheets of paper and a pencil. I need Lt. Colonel Connor's report for my own. And to prevent me from forgetting a few details, you'll write them down."

Hogan stared at him. "I'm not your secretary."

"No, but a POW. And as such, you can be ordered to do some work as long as it doesn't derogate your country. In this case, it will even help families within your country – and in England and France. And seeing that you always worry for the civilians and your comrades' families, I'm sure you won't mind doing something useful for them."

Robert fixed the older man with a firm glance, and Burkhalter returned it without batting an eyelash. Dammit, sometimes he underestimated the Austrian officer.

Grumbling something under his breath, he went to the living room to get the needed materials. There were moments he cursed Burkhalter's sometimes clever mind.

*** HH ***

As much as it irked Hogan, he wrote down for Burkhalter what Connor told them. Afterwards, the general took the documents and left. Robert remained in Klink's quarters, and he could see the wariness in Connor's eyes after Burkhalter had vanished. He knew that the other officer had a lot of questions.

"You seem to know the general very well," Ryan said thoughtfully. "I mean, I bantered with Colonel Schneider, too, but I would have never dared to taunt him like that. And that man is a general and above all responsible for the Luft-Stalags. How does it come that he lets you get away with those rough jokes?"

Robert grinned. "It's just like you already said: We know each other. And here and there I saved his neck when his missions went wrong and he had to answer to Berlin. I gave him a few ideas how to get out of the tight spots, and for that he's still grateful – even if he'd never admit it. And after the assault against Colonel Klink, Burkhalter and I worked hand in hand to get the man in the background. The general often is outraged with me, but he also needs me."

"Colonel Klink told us during lunch why he's restricted to bed and how you and General Burkhalter caught the man supporting the assassin," Connor said slowly. "I can understand that during an emergency official enemies sometimes overcome their differences and work together, but in this case you in person weren't threatened. Why did you support Burkhalter at all? This was a pure inner German matter."

"Yes, but the assassin was dangerous, just like the man who smuggled him into Stalag 13. The man in the background was also a threat for young Schmidt, and we had to stop him before he could harm the lieutenant."

Elison stared at him. "Someone could think that you've befriended the Kommandant and the SS-lieutenant."

"Klink is my friend, correct," Robert replied quietly, but also firmly. "And Schmidt is an honorable young man, as you would likely agree. Men like them are needed after the war."

Ryan pursed his lips. "And General Burkhalter? What about him?"

Hogan shrugged. "The fat Sacher cake's not evil – not really – yet he's going to face a lot of trouble after the war. Rightfully, I have to add. He abused the camp a few times for Wehrmacht matters and missions, even if he made certain that we weren't harmed. But to say the truth, I need him to stay in his position as the responsible staff officer of the Luft-Stalags. He's mostly easy to manipulate, which is important for me and my men – and for Klink."

Elison frowned even more. "May I speak openly, sir?"

Hogan nodded and gestured to the staff sergeant to go on.

"You told Ryan that you technically lived in the Kommandant's quarters since January. You admitted that you have befriended him, and a Wehrmacht general trusts you enough to let you get away with your taunts and harsh jokes." He took a deep breath. "You get along well along with you jailers," he added carefully.

"This camp works because Klink and I are a good team – together with Schultz. With Burkhalter, it's rather a game of who gets whom first fly off the handle," Robert remarked.

"A game?" Bryan cocked his head. "I beg your pardon, sir, but this all here is anything but a game."

"I know," Hogan nodded casually. "The game I play is not only risky, it's dangerous – and can become deadly for my men and I if we make a mistake. And one big mistake would be to lose Burkhalter because we let him walk into a trap. A known opponent is always better than an unknown – and the general kept some humanity at least. We have our own experiences on how it is to be delivered to someone who doesn't even see human beings in us."

"It would be unpleasant for you and your men if the camp's responsibility would be transferred to a fanatical Nazi, that much I understand," Elison replied. "What I don't understand is your lack of seriousness concerning your captivity – or your obvious friendship with the usual Kommandant."

Hogan smiled. "I knew you would mention that sooner or later – or how comfortable I'm with some of the German guards." He rose and walked to the living room. For a moment there was silence, then he spoke to someone. "Baker? It's me. Send one of the gang and Lieutenant Harrison to Klink's quarters." Again silence, then, "What? No, no one particular. Who's available first shall come, okay? – Yes, thanks. Bye."

"Did he just use the telephone to call one of his men?" Connor whispered, asking himself if he was hallucinating.

"Yes, he did," Elison murmured. "But how? The telephone is certainly connected with the Kommandantur and every call is first intercepted there, so…"

"Will! Oh, for God's sake, why don't you stay in bed?" Hogan's voice betrayed his frustration and worry.

"And miss all the fun, Rob? Never," the Oberst answered, with a small chuckle in his voice.

Connor and Elison gaped at each other. Those two were even on the first name base?

"Are they clean?" the German asked.

"Yep," the colonel said.

"Well, then maybe it's about time to tell them what's going on; otherwise they'll begin to doubt your sanity – and mine, too."

"I'm about to tell them – and Harrison. The three are thick like thieves, so it's better to reveal our little sideline job to all of them at once."

The two colonels stepped into the guestroom and faced the Lt. Colonel and staff sergeant, who pulled the blanket higher over himself. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Stop being so awkward about the nightgown, Bryan. It didn't matter as the general was here."

"The less pleasant my sight is, the better for the Krauts," Elison grumbled. "And it's not only that. It's the fact that the gown was made here in Germany and…" He stopped himself as he met Klink's eyes. He knew that he hadn't been fair given the fact that the German colonel had offered him shelter and something to wear from his own stock, yet…

"I wore an American uniform once, and I survived. So you'll certainly live to see another day when you have sleeping wear made in Germany," Will commented.

The older man was decent enough to flush, then he blinked in surprise. "When did you wear an America uniform?"

"During my stay in London," Klink replied wryly. "Officially Hogan and I kidnapped an American aircraft, but in truth we eliminated a German spy, and said aircraft was refitted with an old Messerschmitt engine so that our engineers didn't get the real US drive into their hands. It was a funny adventure – typical for this oversized boy beside me." He nodded towards Hogan, who crossed his arms in front of his chest and began to grin.

Elison gaped at him. "London? Eliminated a German spy? Kidnapped a refitted US aircraft with an old German engine?"

Connor closed his open standing mouth and swallowed before he demanded, "What the hell is going on here?"

The front door opened, and Hogan heard Newkirk's voice calling, "Gov'nor? I brought Lieutenant Harrison."

"We're in the guestroom," Robert answered over his shoulder.

A few moments later the two men reached them. Harrison still wore the nightgown while wrapped in two warm blankets and his boots on naked feet. "Sorry for my appearance, but my clothes are still wet and will be patched up afterwards."

"No problem, Len," Ryan answered absently. His gaze was still fixed on Hogan.

Newkirk leaned against the door frame. He felt the tension in the air, saw the distrust on Connor and Elison's faces, and glanced at his superior and friend. As he saw that Hogan was still relaxed and there was even some mischief deep in his eyes, he assumed what was going on. He wasn't mistaken.

"Colonel, Lieutenant Harrison is here now. Care to finally explain what this is all about?" Connor sounded polite, but also firm.

Klink glanced at his lover and sighed finally. "Come on, Rob. Just show them the other 'exit' of my quarters, and they'll understand what your true job is here. Otherwise they'll burst with doubt and curiosity soon."

Shaking his head – "I first wanted to let them rest for a few days, dammit." – Hogan pinched his nose, took a deep breath and said, "Well, you wonder why I'm so familiar with the Kommandant's quarters and that both of us are obviously not enemies."

"You call each other by the given name," Connor deadpanned. "Hell, you use nicknames, so yes, we're more than a little bit surprised – sir!"

"They do what?" Harrison breathed, and stared questioningly at his friend and then at Hogan.

Robert nodded slowly. It didn't skip his attention that the younger man addressed him rather repudiating now. He glanced at Newkirk. "Watch the compound. I don't want to be taken by surprise by Burkhalter or another guy that isn't in the loop."

Peter nodded. "Okay, Gov'nor." He walked to the windows of the living room and peeked outside, ready to warn Hogan and the others if necessary.

Robert watched him go and sighed before he said quietly to his three comrades, "What I'm telling you now has to remain between us. We had no chance to check all your men through, and we already had a few nasty surprises in the past, so don't be offended that we don't trust all your men from the beginning. I have to first reassure ourselves that they're clean."

"Like Lt. Harrison, Staff Sergeant Elison, and I," Connor deadpanned. "What do you mean with 'clean'? I don't think you refer to our state of hygiene."

"You're right," Hogan agreed. "With 'clean', I mean that you three are absolutely loyal and trustworthy – according to London."

"London?" Harrison gasped.

"Yes. I spoke with our Brass yesterday afternoon…"

"WHAT?" Connor didn't trust his hearing.

"…and they were relieved that you made it," Hogan continued, looking at the Lt. Colonel before his gaze wandered to the other two. "The same goes for you, Gentlemen. Be sure that the Brass is highly pleased that you're now in relative safety." He suppressed a smile as the others stared at him like he had grown three heads and six arms all of sudden. He took a deep breath. "Like I told you yesterday, this camp is not like any other camp you've ever heard of. My order that no one is allowed to make a real attempt of escape is connected with our true job here." He turned around and walked towards the furnace of the living room. "If you would follow me, please." As the others did like required, he addressed Harrison. "Would you lend me one of your blankets for a moment?"

Wordlessly, the lieutenant offered him a plaid, and using it to protect his hands against the hot walls of the furnace, Hogan began to push.

"What the hell…" Connor whispered, as the furnace moved aside and a hole appeared – a oblong hole with a ladder that led into the depths of the ground.

"A…a tunnel?" Harrison murmured.

"One of a whole tunnel network," Hogan smiled. "All Barracks except for Barracks 4 are connected with each other like this. And one tunnel leads to the other side of the wires."

"And…and the Kommandant knows?" Connor flipped a thumb backwards towards Klink.

"Yes – and I expect every day that a part of my camp collapse into one of those damn tunnels. A few times we did have problems with them," Klink deadpanned, before he pointed into the hole. "This is one of many entrances to Hogan's underground world. I'm sure he's going to show you around later."

"Tunnels…" Connor whispered. "A few of us who were captured in Camp 64 began to dig them, too, but we stopped the whole project. It became too dangerous."

"Underground world…" Elison said slowly, and looked Hogan straight in the eyes. "That has a double meaning, doesn't it?"

Robert's mouth curled a bit. "You hit the nail on the head, Sergeant. These tunnels are not made for escape attempts – not for us POWs in this matter – but for people we smuggle out of Germany. They hold different workshops, a clothing and weapon stock, and different equipment including a laboratory to prepare for our missions."

Connor's eyes were wide as saucers. "Espionage…" he breathed; looking from one man to the other one. "This camp serves as an espionage base."

"Yes," Hogan nodded. "Espionage, sabotage, rescue missions – and sometimes we not only get things out, but also in. Last night my men and I were more than a mile away from here at a field to smuggle boxes into Stalag 13 sent from London by aircraft. Boxes with penicillin and wide range antibiotics – for your ill men. They already got the first injection."

The three newcomers could only look with open mouths at him; robbed of any ability to say something. Hogan laughed quietly. "Like I said, Stalag 13's no ordinary POW camp."

"You can say that…" Connor swallowed hard. "Sweet Lord, and the Nazis haven't revealed you until now?"

"They almost did a few times, but thanks to Colonel Klink, Sergeant Schultz, and Fräulein Hilda, the camp's secretary, it didn't come to the worst."

Harrison turned towards Klink. "You're on our side?" he whispered in awe.

"Yes, I am," Wilhelm nodded. "I'm no Nazi, yet I had to play along to stay alive so that I can fulfill my duty towards my country and the men I'm responsible for. That goes for my men, but also for the POWs within this camp. I did everything to keep them safe without waking distrust in my superiors. I swore to protect my country against any enemy, and if the real enemy comes from the inside, then I fight here no matter the nationality." He nodded at Hogan. "I realized slowly, but steadily, who he's for real and supported him by covering for him." He sighed. "And for a few weeks now, the passive support has changed into an active one."

"Good God," Harrison mumbled.

Connor frowned and turned around to glance at Hogan. "This is the reason why you and the Kommandant have become friends," he said, nonchalant. "You two are in one canoe and need each other to keep up the pretense of POW and jailer."

Wilhelm began to chuckle and glanced at Robert. "Are all American officers that bright minded?"

"Mostly. Why do you think we're about to win this war?" Hogan teased back.

"Because our officers are more busy with themselves instead of developing true strategies, and they have their hands full with calming down the crazy bubble brain."

Promptly, Elison began to laugh, while the two younger men couldn't suppress a snicker. Then they turned serious again, and Connor faced Hogan fully. "You have a direct connection to London. You lead an espionage ring, and one call from you is enough to make London send us medicine. Who are you for real?"

"Not the president's son, like Schmidt joked," Hogan answered.

"The SS-lieutenant belongs to your team, too?" Len asked, baffled.

"No, not really, but he supports us by staying silent and helping us if needed," Rob replied, then took a deep breath. "My men are called the Unsung Heroes, and I'm…"

"Papa Bear…" Connor gasped.

"No," Elison whispered. "This…this can't be!"

Hogan smiled at him. "Your godson's right, Sergeant. I'm Papa Bear."

Harrison first looked at Connor, then at Elison, then finally at Hogan and let his head sink into his neck. "I don't believe it. We're in the den of the legendary Papa Bear. Guys, if only ten percent of what is said about him and his men is true, then one phrase fits out situation formidably."

"And that would be?" Bryan asked.

"We jumped out of the frying pan into the fire."

"And that's when we're already running out of fire wood," Newkirk commented wryly.

Klink and Hogan had to grin, as the three newcomers began to laugh.

*** HH ***

Hogan's revelation of Stalag 13's real secret led to a longer talk between him, Klink, and the other three men, while Newkirk remained at the window and watched for unexpected visitors. They learned of everything that really happened in January to Hogan, and they were horrified about it, yet they met Klink afterwards with true respect. The German officer was not only on their side, he had risked everything to save his American counterpart and nursed him back to health, not caring that his actions could be regarded as treason. It was a little miracle that Burkhalter hadn't pressed charges against him.

Hogan accompanied Newkirk and Harrison back to Barracks 2 before he began to resume work. And there was still a lot to do.

In the late afternoon, the new generator was delivered. It wouldn't be used for the new Barracks, but to replace the old one that made horrible noises by now. Because it could only be done when the power came from Hammelburg during the day, the whole project would be done the following day.

In the evening, Burkhalter returned to Klink's quarters to have dinner. He had worked the whole afternoon in the office with Schultz, and he had to admit that the sergeant had done a good job so far. "He's no trained officer, yet he kept the whole administration running," he said.

"Have you checked the purchase lists, supply statistics, reports, and…" Klink asked carefully, and was relieved as the general shook his head.

"I don't have time for those details. As long as the main work is done, I'm satisfied – after all, there are more urgent matters at hand for now." He stopped and frowned, while his gaze wandered to a still very pale Connor, who sat with them and Hogan at the dining table. Elison went back to sleep after the long talk with 'Papa Bear', and his snoring was heard despite the door to the guestroom being closed.

Albert pursed his lips. "By the way, where will I sleep tonight? Your guestroom is occupied as well as your sleeping room."

"The sofa is very comfortable," Hogan deadpanned – and earned a sneering smile from the general.

"That's good to hear, Hogan – for you. Then you certainly won't mind sleeping there."

Robert was not to smart out easily, so he replied, "Should you consider to stay tonight with Klink in the sleeping room, I have to warn you. The colonel not only snores horribly, but he goes to the restroom four or five times at night and needs someone to help him out of bed and back into it. Of course, I'm sure that you'll lend a hand to someone you've known for so long and is a friend, but after the long day you certainly…"

"Am I a nurse?" Burkhalter interrupted him indignantly. "If Klink needs help, then the medic can support him – or you, seeing that you two have become such good friends."

Hogan put on an irritated expression. "I've worked within the last few days for two, am tired like a puppy, and really could use a night full of fitful sleep. So…"

"You're sleeping here, end of story. I'll stay in the backroom of the Kommandantur," Burkhalter said firmly, put his napkin aside, and went to the telephone. Behind his back, Rob and Will exchanged grins. "Sergeant Schultz, it's me," the general began. "Make certain that a field bed is risen in the Kommandantur and…what? There are no field beds left?" He turned around towards the table. "Hogan, now you can really test how comfortable that sofa here is," he said, glaring at the colonel before he ordered into the phone, "Take Colonel Hogan's field bed from Klink's sleeping room and bring it to the Kommandantur. And I don't want to hear any complaints!" He put the receiver back on the phone and returned to the table. "No word, Hogan," he said warningly, as Robert opened his mouth to utter fake protest. "The decision is made. Don't close the door to the bedroom, and you can still hear Klink calling if he needs a hand." He unfolded the napkin. "Now I want to finish my dinner."

He didn't see the short triumphal shine in Hogan's eyes, or the admiration in Klink's as the Oberst looked at his lover. 'Clever fox. You really contrived the whole matter in a smart way.'

*** HH ***

Tired, but mainly satisfied with how the day went, Hogan left the bathroom as the last one. Klink had used it first, then Connor, and afterwards Robert. Elison was still deep asleep, and the other three moved and talked quietly with each other. How exhausted the staff sergeant really was could clearly be seen after the last tension left him and obviously felt safe. And, by the way, he wasn't one of the youngest anymore, and his body needed more time to catch up lost strengths.

Robert went to the front door, tested if the entrance was really locked, walked back to the sleeping room, switched out the light in the living room, and let the door ajar as he closed the short distance to the bed. Klink smiled at him, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"That was very clever how you tricked General Burkhalter into this sleeping arrangement," Wilhelm whispered, and with a grin, Rob slipped beneath the blankets beside him.

"It's called reverse psychology. You try to take notable influence by suggesting something to someone, who – of course – decides exactly the opposite, and fulfills your own wanted way without knowing it."

Klink frowned and gave him a glare. "I know, my witty fox – after all, I was for almost three years your favorite victim of said 'trick'."

Robert laughed softly. "Well, often enough, yes. But, on the other hand, you looked through me and pretended to play along without me realizing it. Who's the clever fox here, eh?"

"Don't try to talk yourself out of the deep water, Rob. It already reaches your jaw," Will teased quietly, before he turned carefully on his left side and reached out for the younger man.

"We still have to be careful," Hogan murmured. "We locked out Burkhalter, but we're still not alone. Connor and Elison are sleeping next door, and if one of them has to use the restroom during the night, then…"

"Innocence of sleep, Robert. You have no control what you're doing while being asleep – and given the coldness even the furnace can't fully ban, we sought out each other's warmth. Simply like that."

It was impossible for Hogan to resist. He loved to cuddle with the lanky form of the older man and feel his proximity. Sighing, he snuggled against his lover and closed his eyes in rising peace as the familiar scent and arms enveloped him. Careful not to hurt Will, he nestled against him and felt how all tension began to leave him.

Sleep found both easily, blissfully unaware of the insanity that raged outside the wires and would increase within the next few days.

*** HH ***

Contraire to Hogan and Klink, Burkhalter couldn't find any rest. Despite the fact that he rose at 3:00 a.m. the prior morning, traveled to Hammelburg, and was overrun with challenges and almost unsolvable problems in the camp, he was unable to sleep. Yes, he was tired, but too many thoughts kept him awake.

The air raid of Zossen and the OKH. How the hell had the Allies found out that beneath the country cottages in the middle of fields and small forests the High Command of the Wehrmacht was hidden there? Someone had blown the whistle, no doubt here.

And he couldn't know that this one particular air-raid along with a few other things, would put him into danger from a side he had never thought to be possible.

Then the trouble with Hartmann. Burkhalter had made his report and gave it verbally to Berlin by phone, stating that he would send the written version with the post service. He had suggested to give Hartmann other tasks than guarding POWs, but no one seemed to be interested in it. Hell, he had contacted his 'dear friend' and had suffered a harsh rebuff. Lives of POWs didn't count more than the lives of political prisoners or criminals for the Brass in Berlin. Himmler had made it very clear that he couldn't care less if 150 hostile officers were shot. "Regard it as an act of mercy that Hartmann delivered them from pain and suffering by give them a quick death. And, by the way, you've to thank me that I didn't report you to the Führer. Decisions of sending trains for the transfer of POWs are only his to make, so be glad that I cover your sudden Samaritan streak and let it slip for once," had been his words before he rebuked Albert for wasting time with such unimportant matters, asked when he would return to Berlin, and ordered him to let Hartmann leave before hanging up the phone.

Burkhalter was still appalled because of it. Never before had Heinrich spoke to him in that manner and the display of open hate and inhumanity had rattled him. Yes, he knew that his 'dear friend' regarded every other man, woman, or child of non-German heritage as sub-humans, and given the current status of the war, the Brass was happy about every enemy who died. But the clear breach of the Geneva Convention and every written or unwritten rule of human rights shocked the general. Himmler's reaction had shown one thing: Every POW who was still breathing could call himself fortunate to still be alive. If the Reichsführer would have any saying in it, he would order that every POW be killed than locked away – a thought that made Burkhalter sick. He only hoped that the West Allies handled the German POWs with better attention.

'Just ask Hogan. He certainly can remove your doubts concerning that one matter,' an inner voice said, and Albert shook his head. How should Hogan know how his free comrades were handling German POWs? Of course the witty American couldn't know it!

And there was more that busied the general's mind. How for God's sake should he provide Stalag 13 with everything that was needed if there was nothing left to give them? Hell, even money didn't help anymore. The nourishment would last for a week or so, then afterwards the stock would be empty.

Black markets, but they were as good as empty, too. And Burkhalter had nothing valuable he could exchange for goods, even if he would take such a decision into sincere consideration. Everything that had been valuable was destroyed together with his house. His wife had only the jewels she had worn that day as the rocket hit the villa and her fur coat. Yes, he had saved 'some' money on a secret account in Switzerland, but given the fact that most contacts and businesses between the Third Reich and Switzerland were cut, he would have to travel to the neutral country to get anything from his account – or from his safe deposit box there.

A trip to Switzerland… The Brass would interpret this as an attempt of defection. And if he stated that he wanted to get some jewels to exchange for supplies needed in Stalag 13 (and other Luft-Stalags), he would be shot for treason – or would be locked away in a madhouse. And there were the disturbing rumors that most patients were never seen again after being delivered to one of those 'hospitals'.

Burkhalter gave up finding some rest, switched on the little night lamp that was placed on an inverted box serving as a 'nightstand', and rose. Putting his feet into his slippers and using his bathrobe, he left the backroom and went into the office. The thick curtains were closed, as were the roller blinds. Switching on the lamp on Klink's desk, he sat down to do some paperwork.

Remembering that Klink had asked him if he had read the lists, statistics and reports, he decided to have a look at them – after all, even if they weren't important anymore, he could learn if Schultz had done them correctly. The large Bavarian had surprised him within the last few days a couple times. He had underestimated him a lot, seeing what a strong backbone the man could develop or how well he handled being in charge of the camp.

Looking through the documents and comparing them with those of January and February, his attention was suddenly caught by something strange. They were done in different hand writings.

He himself had made them in the first half of January as Klink had been ill. In February – von Neuhaus had done them for two days, then Klink again. Then he – Burkhalter – had worked on the lists, statistics, and reports after Klink was injured, then Schultz tried his luck, but…but something didn't fit. There was another handwriting he couldn't place. Four people, but five different scripts? Odd. Very odd.

And somehow the fifth handwriting that had been used within the last one and a half weeks was almost familiar. A clear, strong, rightwards style…he had seen it before. On sheets which had been filled only a short time before. And he also remembered a signature that was likewise, and belonged….Burkhalter turned into a pillar of salt.

Hogan…

This was Hogan's handwriting!

No. No, that couldn't be. Yet, Burkhalter was almost certain that… His gaze found the makeshift desk nearby where Hogan had sat at earlier today, phoning companies in Hammelburg and Schmidt. Now construction plans, supply lists, and so on lay there, but the table was clearly used as a desk.

A desk for Hogan? In Klink's office? And then reports, statistics, and lists which seemed to wear the American's handwriting? Was it truly Hogan's script? Only one way to find out.

Burkhalter rose and hurried into the anteroom. Hilda had transcribed Connor's report that had been written down first from Hogan as a completion of Burkhalter's own report.

He searched the desk until he found the handwritten report Hogan had made from Connor's interview. Returning to Klink's office, he compared it with the strange script on the lists and statistics. Yes, he was no graphologist, but that those two handwritings were identical could be easily seen.

Sitting down in the desk chair, Burkhalter stared into the semi darkness of the office. Robert Hogan had done a part of the accruing administration in the Kommandantur. Schultz had to be insane to allow this. Hogan had to be insane to do it at all.

The Brass would turn berserk if this became known – both Brasses. The one in Berlin would send Schultz and himself to a firing squad for treason. The Brass in London or Washington would imprison or shoot Hogan for interrogation with the enemy.

What had gotten into the American to do this? Why helping Schultz with the administration?

He looked back down on the documents. The reason for Schultz to rope Hogan in for work in the office was clear: Lack of knowledge concerning strict military administration. Hogan was a trained officer. The part of the desk job every officer had to do certainly didn't hold much difference between the Wehrmacht and US Army. But the reason why Hogan agreed to help was unclear to Burkhalter. There were no advantages the colonel could gain with it – despite the fact that he had insight of every single damn document that went over Klink's (Schultz's) desk.

What, why, and for whom were questions Burkhalter wouldn't get any answer for from the American. Hogan was not only stubborn, he was also far too clever to not think of a plausible excuse for his agreement to support Schultz in the office. Yet Burkhalter would confront him with everything there. He had to – it was his duty. And maybe he'd be lucky enough that Hogan would give himself away if he was confronted with something he hoped to have hidden.

Rubbing his temples because of the approaching headache, Burkhalter closed his eyes. The men of Stalag 13 would be his doom one day…

TBC…

You almost could find some pity for Burkhalter. He gets one shock after the next. Now he knows more about the secrets in Stalag 13 than ever thought, yet he didn't make the conclusion of what really is going on. Or he is in simple denial (*snicker*).

In the next chapter, Burkhalter confronts Hogan and Schultz, of course. Connor and the others learn more about the camp, and in Coblenz the battle is closing up on Max.

I hope, you liked the new chapter – the funny, the more serious and the fluffy scenes. Like always, I would LOVE to get some comments / reviews.

Stay well and safe,

Love

Yours Starflight