Hi, my dear readers,

Thank you so much for the feedback of the last chapter. I'm glad that you liked it so much, even if our Heroes and our lovebirds weren't 'there'. In the new chapter, you meet them again, Schultz will learn what happened to his youngest son and Max will give his new 'friend' Milford something to think about.

I hope, you all are well and that you're not effected in person by the damn virus crisis and its implications.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 90 – Friends and enemies

Dr. Birkhorn came the same day to camp despite that it was Saturday. Many newcomers were still in need for medical attention, the second shot of penicillin was necessary, and the German doctor supported his American colleagues as much as he could. Hogan, who visited the sick ones together with Connor, smiled as he watched the surgeons speaking and working with each other. It was no wonder why he worked with the other men so well. But it not only went for him, but also for Dr. Glockner, who had accompanied him on his visit, but worked in another building so that he couldn't witness the injections.

"The people here seem to be rather…tolerant and nice," Connor murmured, as he and Hogan left the infirmary. "I mean, we got medical attention in Camp 64, too, but the doctors were rather tight lipped and brisk."

"Birkhorn belongs to the Resistance," Hogan whispered. "And the other man is a doctor through and through. He stayed here after Klink was injured and took care of him for days; never complained once about it." He sighed as he felt the warmth of sun rays. "But you're right. The people here in Hammelburg are rather kind-hearted and approachable. Sure, there are Nazis among them, but most are rather…neutral – making a nice face to the evil game."

A tractor neared the gates and pulled a trailer behind it. Curious, the two American officers headed towards the gates to get a better look at it, and Robert rose both brows as he recognized the man and young woman beside him. "That's Hilda – and her father."

"And at least two dozen pretty ladies," Connor said, baffled.

He was right. On the trailer sat more than twenty young women, smiling and chattering.

Schultz hastened towards the gates, which were opened by a guard, and spoke with Hilda and her father. Hogan and Connor couldn't understand what they were discussing, but Hilda was batting her lashes at the large Bavarian, who literally squirmed.

Knowing that it was forbidden to come near the gates less than five meters away, Hogan stopped and watched the scene in front of him.

"Really, Fräulein Hilda, I'm sure you mean good, but it is against protocol and…"

"Ah, come on, Schultzie. Those poor men maybe can handle a rifle, but not a needle. And their clothes are in desperate need to get fixed. I don't think…"

"What's the matter here?" boomed Burkhalter's voice over the compound. Regarding his weight, his tempo was impressing with which he headed towards the gates.

Hilda gave him one of her beaming smiles. "Guten Morgen, Herr General," she greeted him cheerfully. Her father slightly bowed his head, making Burkhalter – who had closed the distance to them – politely return the gesture.

"Herr Schneider," he greeted.

"Herr General," Hilda's father replied.

Burkhalter looked at the trailer, and his eyes widened. "What…what are all of these young ladies doing here?"

Giggles, soft laughter, and waves were the result, and Albert felt his chest swelling for a moment.

"These are a few friends of mine and their neighbors," Hilda explained, while climbing down from the tractor. "I told them about the intolerable state of the newcomers' clothes and that the other men are hopelessly overwhelmed with the task to put them back in order. They are running out of yarn, buttons, and so on. We thought we could lend them a hand."

Burkhalter wasn't the only one who gaped at her. Hogan and Schultz's faces wore the same thunderstruck expression, while Connor blinked and finally murmured, " 'Kind-hearted and approachable', indeed."

The general closed his mouth with a click and took a deep breath. "This is certainly a nice streak of you and your friends, my dear, but protocol says…"

"Protocol is for ordinary times. But extraordinary situations take extraordinary measures, don't you agree?" she beamed and turned around. "Mädels, (slang for girls), here we go."

Laughing and talking, the women climbed down from the trailer, baskets with sewing utensils in hand.

"B-b-b-but, Fräulein Hilda…" Burkhalter began to protest, but shut up as she offered him a plate covered with a piece of cloth.

"My mother baked two Topfenstrudels yesterday (Austrian cake with soft quark cheese); one for us, and one for you. I give it to you with her best regards," Hilda interrupted him with a bright smile and thrust the plate into his hands.

"A Topfenstrudel," Schultz said, excited. "One of my favorites."

"For you information, the cake is for me," Burkhalter snapped, before he cleared his throat and turned back towards Hilda. "My dear, as much as I appreciate all of this, I…"

"Hello, Herr General."

"Good morning."

"Nice to meet you."

"Finally, I see the general in person for once."

"And such a handsome gentleman."

The young ladies more or less flooded around him; smiling and beaming, batting their lashes and giggling like school girls.

"L-L-L-Ladies," Albert stuttered, and felt himself blushing as a brunette blew him a kiss before opening her basket and showed it to one of the guards. "Here; everything for the sewing." The others followed her example, showing that they didn't want to smuggle something into camp that was forbidden. They saw two American officers standing nearby and headed towards them with shining eyes, a few giving them certain glances.

Connor gulped. "Is this…normal?" He asked.

Hogan chuckled. "In Hammelburg? Yeah." He tipped his temple as the first women that approached him and Ryan. "Ladies," he greeted them with one of his brilliant smiles. "Welcome to Stalag 13."

Burkhalter watched the whole thing, too flabbergasted to do something. He looked at Herr Schneider, while Hilda followed her friends with a "I have to translate for them."

"If someone in Berlin learns of this, I can start making my testament," he groaned. "Civils have to stay away from POWs, and just look at that over there."

Hilda's father was deeply amused as he watched at least ten young ladies gathering around Colonel Hogan, who instantly played out all his charm he was well-known for. The younger man at his side was more reserved, but obviously he met the women with politeness and a mixture of confusion and surprise.

"Herr General, let's face it. The war is as good as lost, and day by day insanity and cruelness increases. Those girls over there are helping the men who can protect them in return if…if everything comes to an end. And the most of them don't do it only in regards of the future, but because they really developed sympathy for the newcomers. The drivers of the Heinzer Company told us of the horrible shape the men were in, and it awoke compassion. The moment we forget compassion for troubled and wounded ones is the moment we lose humanity. Don't you think so – not as an officer, but as a man of honor?"

Burkhalter watched the older man thoughtfully and nodded slowly. "You're right," he murmured. "Sympathy is something we all need sooner or later – on our side or that of our enemies." He heard Hogan laughing and looked over at the American colonel, crowded from the ladies and Connor at his side, appearing more relaxed than before. "Maybe humanity is the only thing that will save us in the end," Albert whispered.

*** HH *** HH ***

"Whom do we have here?" A lieutenant who was responsible for the basic camp's guards, asked Milford. The staff sergeant drove one of the jeeps with his friend Jim Wright beside him. On the backseat, Max held Frank close to him, who was wrapped in a blanket and shivered.

"The two boys Colonel Hudson of the 69th is searching for. One is hurt and needs medical support. Lieutenant Muller sent us here and ordered me to inform Colonel Hudson that the boys were found."

The other officer frowned. "What have they done that they're wanted?"

"Wanted?" Milford smiled shortly. "One is the son of an important Underground member; the other one is his friend. Both are clean," he added.

"If you say so," the lieutenant sighed. "Drive to the field hospital over there. Dr. Hawkins will be delighted to get new patients, seeing that he already has his hands full."

Milford shrugged. "It's his job, isn't it?" He nodded at his superior and steered the car through the camp. On the backseat, Max looked on with big eyes. So many tents, so many trucks and tanks…

"Have you brought half of your army with you?" he asked wryly, and Milford chuckled.

"This, m'boy, is only a small part of our army."

"Heavens!" Schultz's youngest son sighed. "Hitler must be more crazy than ever to challenge you."

"Hopefully the German generals and admirals are going to see it likewise. Before there are more victims to mourn."

They stopped at a large tent that was only one of a few. The white spot with the red cross painted on it showed that this was the M*A*S*H of the 87th Division.

The two men left the car, and while Wright went into the tent to get a stretcher and two pairs of helping hands, Milford leaned into the jeep and carefully touched Frank's shoulder. "Hey, kiddo, are you still with us?"

The boy looked up with glassy eyes and nodded, yet the trembling worsened.

"You made it, Frank," the sergeant said, encouraging. "We're at the field hospital. You'll be okay again in a few days."

Two GIs left the tent with Wright behind them. "You brought a Kraut?" one of them asked, and Milford straightened his shape.

"No, a wounded child and his friend, whose father belongs to the Resistance."

Max frowned. First his father 'knew' someone from the Underground who was an American, and now his father was even a 'member' of the Underground? That here became odder and odder. Yet his main concern was Frank, and he helped to get his friend out of the car and onto the stretcher. Without hesitation, he followed the two men inside of the tent, and to his relief, Milford accompanied him.

Inside many field beds were risen. More than three dozen occupied them, all being GIs. In the background, a man with a former white, now weathered coat was treating another man's arm, and a few assistants were taking care of other patients.

The two GIs brought Frank to a separate part of the tent, while Milford gestured towards a chair. "Sit here, Max. I'll talk to Dr. Hawkins."

The boy did as ordered, yet he watched everything with hawk eyes – especially the section where Frank had been brought to. A minute later the surgeon headed into the same direction after giving Max an attentive look; Wright followed him. Milford returned and said quietly, "Dr. Hawkins is examining Frank and will operate if needed. It could last for a quite a while yet. Do you want to remain here?"

"Yes, please," Max murmured, while rubbing his forehead. His stomach growled, and he blushed as he heard it.

A soft chuckle escaped John. "I'll get us something to eat before contacting Colonel Hudson."

Max looked up at him. "Sir, you said that my father belongs to the Underground and that first this lieutenant and now you accept such efforts to help Frank and I on his behalf shows that he's really important. Yet he is only a Sergeant of the Guards at his camp: Stalag 13. I know I shouldn't ask this, but…I really don't see the connection. Dad is decent and honorable, and he hates the wrongness of what's going on in Germany, yes, but…but he's no fighter. How can he be so important for the Underground and the Allies without being a warrior?"

Milford couldn't help himself; he smiled. "Warriors do not always fight with weapons, kiddo. There are many ways to fight – with cleverness, with the mind, with tricks, by supporting others, covering for others. I think the last part goes for your father. Without him, our man certainly would have been caught and executed years ago. And as far as I understood Colonel Hudson, your dad also had a part in saving war booty. What your father does is the so-called 'soft resistance', and you need as much courage to do it as if you would to fight openly. I don't have any details, but I think you can be very proud of your father."

"I am," Max admitted. "Even more so that he doesn't fight openly. Dad is rather…soft-hearted and can't harm a fly. Before the war started, he led a toy factory back in Heidelberg, and he was most happy when new developed toys gave children joy."

"A toy factory?" Milford asked curiously.

"Yes. When he was young, he visited a friend in Heidelberg who was studying there at the university. Dad met my mother during a visit to the theatre. Her family owns the factory in the third generation. Dad fell in love with Mom and moved from Upper Bavaria to Heidelberg, where he entered the factory and later assumed it. As the war started, we were dispossessed of the factory to produce parts for the weapons industry – brackets, covers of any sorts for rifles and tanks, and so on. We once produced tin toys, and now…" He made a fleeing gesture with his hand. He sighed. "My older brothers began to study to lead the Schatze Company later as a toy factory again. Ludwig studied mechanical engineering, and Hans studied business administration." He grimaced. "They were forced to leave the university last summer as they were summoned by force after D-Day."

For the first time ever, John heard about fates of the other side – German people who had lived a rather happy and innocence life, and now endured the consequences of their Chancellor's sick greed to rule the world. He never had wasted a closer thought about them, but this boy was opening his eyes to something he had ignored until now.

"What happened to your brothers?" he asked quietly, while crossing his arms in front of his chest; fearing the worst.

"They were taken captive in Northern France. Dad phoned Mom over a week ago and said that he got a message that they're all right. So…" He stopped and cocked his head. "Dad got a message. Very odd. We got letters from Hans and Ludwig from time to time, and we informed Dad about their wellbeing. And now he got a message?" He frowned. "Do you think Dad learned about my brothers because of…of 'your man'?"

"Maybe," Milford nodded, inwardly convinced that 'Papa Bear' had pulled the strings not only for Max, but also for the elder sons of his German friend. 'He really seems to be a loyal fella, this Papa Bear, seeing how much he does for his allies,' he thought. "Do you have any more siblings?" he asked, trying to take the teen's thoughts away from the whole spy-business. The less he knew, the better.

"Yes, two sisters. Margarethe, named after my mother, and Franziska, after my father's mom. They're working in the factory – to keep an eye on everything, like Franzi put it," he added, with a proud smile.

'Roosevelt plans to tear down most German factories and change your country in a pure agrarian country,' Milford thought. 'Personally, I think this is a waste, because you Germans are so good in tinkering and developing new techniques, but just look what came out of it. We can't risk that the whole mess repeats itself in a few years… Still, I hope that your family's toy factory will be re-opened one day.' He sighed inwardly.

Wright returned from the separate part of the tent, half amused as he saw his friend and superior chatting with the German boy. 'Got yourself a protector, kiddo, don't you?'

"Your friend's left leg is slightly broken as is his hip. He also has some flesh wounds and bruises, but it's nothing our doc can't fix," he reported, addressing Max, who paled.

"Does the doctor have to do surgery?"

"Yes, but nothing too dramatic. He thinks that he'll be done within half an hour." He shook his head. "Dammit, you and him are still kids. What the hell were you doing in this blasted city in the middle of a battle?!"

"We weren't there on our own free will, believe me," Max deadpanned. "We weren't even asked. Two guys of the Waffen-SS appeared at school, called the names who had to follow them, and then off we went. We couldn't even say goodbye to our families."

"Bastards!" Wright grumbled. "To send kids into battle is a crime." He looked at Milford. "David took our young friend's rifle with him as we raced through the backyard of the house back there," he flipped his thumb over his shoulder into the direction of Downtown Coblenz. "Guess what? Our little angel of peace here didn't fire one single shot."

John rose both brows and looked down on a flushing Max.

"The weapon was completely loaded," Wright continued, and extended a hand towards the boy. "Give me your ammunition pouch." Schultz's youngest son obeyed and offered the GI the little bag he instantly checked. "Usually they get fifty bullets. Do I have to count them, or can you confirm that they're complete?"

Max sighed. "They're complete. I…I didn't use my rifle at all."

Jim nodded at John. "There you go."

Milford pursed his lips. "Max, why didn't you shoot me?" he asked the question that was burning in him since the fateful moment happened.

The boy got big eyes. "You were reloading your weapon – you were defenseless. It would have been murder to kill someone who can't fight back."

The two Americans frowned. "Soldiers kill in battle," John said slowly. "It's inevitable."

"I know," Max murmured. "But it's one thing to shoot at someone who aims at you in return, or to kill someone who is helpless. The latter is murder." He lowered his head. "I can't imagine taking somebody's life." He glanced up again at the sergeant, whose face had softened. "I…I saw your eyes. You were afraid just like I was. And…and you have a family back in the US…just like I have one in Heidelberg. I thought…I thought what they would feel if they would lose you and…" He shrugged and took a deep breath. "I know that everyone within the SS or Wehrmacht would call me a coward or traitor – or both – but…but I simply can't kill someone. Dad once told me about the POWs in his camp – that he regards them sometimes as oversized boys, and he sounded almost fond of them. Then he explained that they don't differ from us – only in uniform and language, but otherwise they're like we are. I remembered those words, saw you, and…" He waved a hand.

"You saw the human beneath the uniform," Wright offered quietly, as the boy trailed off.

Max nodded. "Yes. I suddenly knew that I couldn't pull the trigger, no matter what. So…I ran away, met Frank, who had waited for me, then the artillery fire began, and we tried to find shelter in that backyard. The rest you know."

Milford and Wright exchanged a glance with each other. John bent down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're a good kid, Max Schultz. And I don't say this because you spared my life. For this, I'll owe you forever. No, I say this because it is what you are: A good person with a big heart, and it beats in the right place. Sometimes you need more courage to follow your conscience than duty and do what you think is right. You're braver than many men on both sides."

Max looked at him with large eyes while blushing. "You really think so?" he asked quietly.

John nodded with a true smile. "People like you give men like me hope that we not only fight to stop a madman and his fellows, but also for a better world. Children are the future, and if only a few kids think like you do, the future already holds some brightness." He squeezed the boy's shoulder and straightened his shape. "And now I'll get you something to eat and contact Colonel Hudson to let your father know you're okay."

He turned to leave, but Max held him back with a gentle touch on the man's arm. "Sir, may I have your name?"

The sergeant looked with big eyes at him before mumbling, "I haven't introduced myself until now?"

Max shook his head and felt a snicker rising in him as the American clapped a hand on his forehead, while the other man teased, "Your manners leave a lot to be desired."

"Did you introduce yourself to our kiddo here?" John shot back, and Jim grinned at him.

"No, but I'm not the man who owes him his life – and you're the staff sergeant here. I'm only a simple corporal, so I have to give you the advantage."

"Since when?"

"Always, Sergeant – sir." He saluted.

"Skip the nonsense. The only time you salute is during a mustering."

"Yet I do it," Wright grinned.

The boy's quiet laughter awoke both of their attentions. Max looked at them with almost sparkling eyes. "You sound just like Frank and I," he commented, with a tentative grin.

The sergeant rolled his eyes, gave the smirking corporal a stern glance – that went by unnoticed – and caught up with his manners. "I'm Staff Sergeant John Milford, and this impossible guy beside me is Corporal Jim Wright." He smiled. "The lieutenant you mistook for a German is Claus Muller of the 69th Division."

"He tricked me," Max stated. "Yet he was nice and wished me well. I hope he comes out of this stupid battle unharmed." He gave the two men a little smile. "The same goes for you."

"Thanks, kiddo," John replied. "Jim and I will return to town soon; but first, I have a call to make."

"Can…can you pass a message to my father?" Max asked quietly, hope in his blue eyes.

"I can't promise you anything, but I'll try," Milford nodded. "What is it?"

"Tell him that I'm well and that I love him." He moistened his lips. "And that he shouldn't worry so much for me. I'm…I'm in good hands."

John stared at him – and rubbed his neck. "Well, I'll try to pass your words to him."

He left the tent with Wright, who gave him some curious looks. "What?" Milford asked, while they headed towards the communication tent.

"Why do I get the gut feeling that you're going to take the boy under your protective wings?"

John groaned. "Don't go overboard with your assumption. I haven't the tiniest clue what the top brass of our division – or Patton – plan to do with him."

"But if he needs help, you're going to shield him." It was a statement, not a question.

Milford grimaced. "I do owe the boy my life – and he… he's okay. He's a nice kid, so…" He shrugged again and walked towards the radio tent; Wright beside him.

*** HH *** HH ***

"Goldilocks calling Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear." The female voice sounded quietly from the speakers as Kinchloe climbed down into the tunnels. His eyes widened – a direct call; not an coded message. This had to be important.

He ran the few meters to the radio, took the headset, and activated the receiver. "Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear. We read you, come in."

"Finally," the voice answered. "We've tried to reach you for more than an hour now."

"What shall I say? We have our hands full with laundry and renovating. The den is quite crowded, you know." He thought it better to speak not too plainly for the case that someone got big ears.

"If you're so eager for spring cleaning, then come over and do my windows. I could need a little help with them," came the answer, sounding more like a joke. A moment later, a male voice took over. "Papa Bear, this is Mama Bear."

"Sir," Kinchloe replied. "Papa Bear is in the garden. Do you need to speak with him in person?"

"It would be better, yes," the officer in London answered.

"Okay, I'll get him." Kinch set the headset aside and rose. A short time later he returned with Hogan on his heels. Without hesitation, the colonel took the headset and sat down in front of the radio, activating the receiver again. "Mama Bear, this is Papa Bear. Come in, please."

"Papa Bear, we want to inform you that the cubs were found at the river. The smaller one is unharmed, the taller one got some bruises as he was caught between debris and stones…"

Five minutes later, Hogan left Barracks 2 and looked around for Schultz. Now, during midday, the sun rays were warm, but the air was still cold as soon as you entered the shadows. But the nice weather – and the ladies – had tempted most POWs to be outside; at least those who weren't ill or too weak to move. On banks, which had been placed in the sun, sat the young women sewing; adored by dozen of men who goggled adoringly at them or tried to speak with them despite the big hindrance called 'language barrier'.

Hogan had given up to stop all the flirting that was going on. Yes, his men and the newcomers would behave, yet they were all human and prisoners for far too long. Even if the men would keep their hands to themselves, the danger of someone going too far was real. And Hogan didn't want to repay the girl's helpfulness – or Burkhalter's generosity to ignore the book – with trouble.

Given the fact how crowded the compound was, it was not easy to find even the Bavarian's large figure.

Hogan caught sight of him finally near the shower rooms, where the cement had been molded for the cistern. Many men were busy with mounting the water supply, while others were raising a new wooden building that would contain the new shower rooms.

Heading towards them, Hogan stepped beside Hans. "Schultz," he said, laying a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Ja?" Hans asked, and turned around; rifle casually in one hand.

"I got news," Robert said quietly, and met the instantly worried eyes of his German friend. Nodding towards a more calmer place between Barracks 2 and 3, he walked away, Schultz on his heels. He knew that the Bavarian would react strongly to what he would learn, and there was no need for prying eyes to see it.

Robert stopped as they reached the calm spot and turned around. Schultz was pale, and his breath was heavy; pure fear mirrored in his eyes.

"London received a call from the 69th Division," Hogan said gently. "Your son and his friend Frank stumbled over one of the troops that is conquering Coblenz since this morning. A lieutenant, who had gotten the task to find them after I spoke with Colonel Hudson, ordered to bring them to safety. They're out of danger now."

For a long moment, Hans said absolutely nothing; he only looked at Hogan like an owl torn out of sleep before he whispered, "My Bua (Bavarian for boy) is safe?"

Robert nodded. "Yes. He and his friend Frank are in the base camp of the 87th Division, which is actually seizing the town. Frank got some bruises, but Max is all right."

The wave of relief that washed over Schultz was strong enough to make him sway. Robert reached out and steadied him, feeling his heart going out to his unusual friend as he heard the hollow breath and saw moisture forming beneath the lashes of Hans' closed eyes. "Calm down, Schultzie, your boy is safe. So is his friend."

Schultz, dizzy with relief and slowly rising happiness, looked at the colonel, whose face was in a blur. Hastily, he tried to blink away the tears, but managed only slightly. One single tear rolled down his cheek, yet he began to smile wider than Hogan had ever seen.

"Thank you, Herr Hogan," he whispered. "I will never – ever! – forget what you did for me and my family."

Robert felt a smile of his own tugging at his mouth. "What friends are for?" he replied kindly.

"Yes," Hans nodded. "Yes, you are really a friend, and I thank the Lord that He brought you to this camp – even if I owe my white hair partly to you jolly joker," he added with a soft laugh before doing something that would have brought him into not hot, but boiling water if one would have seen him. He let his rifle fall, bent forwards and pulled the younger, smaller man in for a bear-hug and clapped him on the back while whispering something in Bavarian even Hogan couldn't understand. Then Schultz let go of him, sniffled, and wiped his eyes.

"What…what will happen to them now?" he asked.

Robert, still baffled of the emotional reaction, sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, Schultz. Usually all captured opponents are treated as POWs and brought to POW camps, but in this case…" He shook his head. "I have no clue what they're doing with Max and Frank now. They could send them back to Heidelberg, but Heidelberg isn't liberated until now, and when our troops come in, the boys could get hurt. Besides, they could get into trouble if the SS thinks they've deserted without being released. Maybe our boys will keep them until it's safe to send them home." He reached out and squeezed Schultz's underarm. "But don't worry. We treat POWs fair – and kids are always under special protection."

Hans rubbed his neck with his free hand. "Do you have the chance to talk to someone within the camp – to learn firsthand how Max is doing?"

Hogan sighed. "I don't think that's possible, Schultz. But Max already sent private words to you through a staff sergeant. He gives you his love and you shouldn't worry; he's in good hands." He pursed his lips. "As far as I learned, said staff sergeant and your boy had an encounter with each other in town. Max spared the man's life, who – in return – helped him and Frank. Your son's friend was hurt by a collapsing house wall, and Max thought it to be a good idea to ask a few GIs for help – among them said sergeant, John Milford. He got the two teens to the camp, where Frank is being medically treated at the moment. Your son is getting some lunch. Colonel Hudson thinks that Milford took your son and Frank under his wings."

Schultz's eyes were large as saucers. "My son…spared an opponent's life? And then he was brave enough to ask the GIs to help Frank?" A very large, proud grin appeared on his face. "That is my Max – kind and good-hearted through and through, and in his own way brave."

A soft laugh escaped Hogan. "Well, the apple never falls far from the tree. He truly has to be your son."

Hans shook his head while chuckling. "And you should save your charm for the Kommandant. I don't think he'll be too happy with you being crowded by all these young ladies for three hours now."

Robert lifted one warning finger. "Uh-uh, Schultz, I pour on the charm to the girls who help my men and the newcomers to get their clothes, but this is only a cover. You know my heart belongs only to Will."

Gentleness lay in Schultz's gaze and on his face as he replied, "And I think that is the best that could happen to you two." With a smile he picked up his rifle; the already sunny day seemed to have brightened even more now.

*** HH *** HH ***

The afternoon went by with a lot of jokes, flirting, sewing, working on the shower rooms, even some English and German lessons. The sunny weather, the singing of birds, the promise of approaching spring – it was inevitable that hormones were high. Flushed faces and shy smiles found gentle gazes and uncertain boyish grins, while the older POWs didn't hide their amusement.

Hogan had returned to Klink's quarters in the afternoon to give him an update, and – of course – the older man was pouting.

"There you are – outside on the first day of spring laughing and flirting with girls, and I'm stuck in this stupid bed."

Robert sat down on the bed's edge; eyes soft and loving. "I leave the flirting to my men, you know. LeBeau is in his element; Newkirk's trying to show exactly what an English gentleman is; Carter is gauche like always, but I think a particular girl doesn't mind; and Kinch is entertaining them with stories of his home town. I think he and Baker are the first black men the girls ever saw. Addison and Howards seem to have forgotten that they're married, and the other men…" He chuckled. "Hilda is an angel. It isn't so important that the ladies help with clothes; they'd rather distract the newcomers, which helps them a lot. And our POWs…well, they could use some divertissement, too." He began to chuckle. "And I never saw Burkhalter so often in the compound 'checking the situation' as he puts it. But in truth, he's puffing his feathers like a rooster."

"Typical," Klink sighed. "Yet when I think of his shrew, I can understand him."

Hogan laughed quietly before he replied, "Well, at least he was worried for her three weeks ago – after the rocket flew the wrong way." He pursed his lips. "I'm asking myself where his family is now…"

"Are you developing some concern for the enemy, Rob?" Will teased him, and Hogan rolled his eyes.

"Burkhalter belongs to the enemy, yes, but…when he isn't the pompous, plotting, cowardly asshole he is, he can be agreeable."

"Language, my dear Colonel," Klink rebuked him with a smile before he wrapped his long elegant fingers around Hogan's strong ones. "But you're right. It's unavoidable to see a person beneath the uniform after almost three years – especially when you've had so many encounters with said someone."

"Yet it depends on said person and how the feelings go. I can accept Burkhalter as an opponent officer, who's kept some humanity and even a little bit of kindness sometimes. But take Hartmann, for example. I think if Connor would have the chance, he would grill the guy – literally."

Klink nodded. "I know what you mean. You speak of Connor and Hartmann, but I think in truth you think of Major Hochstetter, don't you?"

Robert sighed. "Yeah. I know that he followed his sworn duty as he tried to reveal me. That he tortured and tried to kill me is something between the two of us – dark kind of history. But I will never forgive him that he almost murdered you – really intended to finish you off. You were defenseless as he sneaked into your quarters and shot at you in cold blood – attempting to kill a fellow man out of sick revenge; taking away the one I love." He shook his head. "I hope he roasts in Hell for it."

He wasn't aware that his eyes flashed dangerously, and he only calmed down as he felt Will gently squeeze his fingers. "He's dead, Rob – and you got your own kind of revenge on him by telling him he was right about you, only to take that knowledge with him to the grave." He smirked. "I would have loved to seen his face when you told him that."

A snort escaped Hogan. "Schmidt, Burkhalter, and Schultz were more than baffled about his crazy laughter after I talked to him and left him to the firing squad." He lifted both brows. "Apropos Schultz. I received a call from London today. Schultz's youngest son and his friend were found in Coblenz and brought to safety. Max is okay, but his friend got some bruises."

Klink took a deep breath. "That, I'm calling good news. Schultz loves all of his children dearly, but his youngest is someone special."

"You can say that," Hogan nodded. "The way the kid got himself caught is a story to tell around." Within the next few minutes, Robert told Klink what he had learned from London, and the Kommandant could only smile and chuckle in the end.

"Asking a whole troop of enemies for help…that's so Schultz-like. The boy must be a mini edition of our Strudel king."

Robert laughed gently. "Yes, he got the kind heart and unwillingness to bring harm to someone from his father." He shook his head in amusement. "And I bet that Colonel Hudson's right – that the kid got himself and his friend a protector in the staff sergeant."

"I'd call that pure luck," Wilhelm sighed. "I can only imagine that this must be…eerie and stressful for him to be in the middle of a camp full of men that are officially his enemies. To have someone there to look out for him is extremely fortunate."

"I agree," Hogan said, with an almost dramatic face. "Alone and scared in the middle of enemy territory, fearing every day the worst, caught and locked away without any hope of rescue, surrounded by hostile guys…I know exactly what the boy's going through."

Klink stared at him. "Do you refer to my camp with this theatrical description?" he growled.

Robert blinked in the best little boy way up at the ceiling. "Yes, bec…" He almost yelped as the long hand around his forcefully pulled him down, and he managed in the very last second to brace himself with his arms to Klink's both sides.

"Ooof," he gasped, while the long hand was suddenly on his neck and held his face inches away from Will's.

"You poor little, innocent, threatened, and scared lamb; all threatened by the big bad wolf in German uniform. Such a luck that you wriggled yourself into the black heart of said big bad wolf and now you're save from him."

Hogan's beginning snickering was cut off as Wilhelm lifted his head, and their lips met. The laughter that bubbled in Robert wore off as Will's clever tongue sought entrance to his mouth – and for a few minutes, there was nothing else left than hungry, needing, and yet loving kisses.

*** HH *** HH ***

Max sat beside Frank's field bed and held his friend's hand in his. Despite the fact that Frank was still out cold and patched up like a mummy from his hips down, his sight calmed the other boy's nerves. Because what was going on around him shook him deeply.

During the afternoon, more and more injured GIs had been brought into the tent, and he learned that Dr. Hawkins wasn't the only surgeon within the division, but that there were five more. Now, in the early evening, he also got support from the 69th Division's medical staff, yet Max felt nausea when he saw the injuries the soldiers suffered or heard their moans and cries for help. This was a side of war he had never seen before. Okay, Heidelberg had been mostly spared from any air raids or other attacks, because there was nothing important for Germany's war machinery. The town was known for its universities, churches, the abbey, and the idyllic alleys. The few factories there, which produced for the weapon industry, were small and had no real influence on Germany's war machinery – the reason why the town was still almost completely intact.

The only harsh pictures of the raging war Max had seen had been in the "Wochenschau" (Week Show, the NS news) in the cinema, where the news of the war were screened before the film started, and even there the regime had skipped from showing any nasty pictures. Goebbels preferred to portray the SS and Wehrmacht as victorious and strong. Casualties had no room in the world he presented to the people.

But now Max was confronted with the brutal truth – the most ugly face of any war. Men who had grave injuries dying despite the doctor's attempts to save them. Three times Max watched how someone pulled the blanket over a soldier's face; two times someone was brought out of the tent on a stretcher covered with a blanket, too. It smelled of blood, disinfection agents, and sweat. The whole world seemed to be reduced to blood and misery, and it touched the young boy more than anything else.

The entrance to the tent was flipped open, and two GIs brought another comrade inside; supporting him while he limped inside – face ashen and dirty, uniform jacket torn, blood was coloring the right part of this trousers.

"Doctor, he's hit in the right thigh," one of the men helping him yelled. Behind them came two other soldiers carrying someone who was placed on one of the field beds near Frank.

The man was in the beginning of his thirties – or so Max assumed. He stared at the ceiling trembling and moaning, an injury in his upper chest.

"Water…" It was not more than a croak, but it seemed to echo in Max's ears like a scream. Seeing that the two soldiers were already on their way out, the boy looked around. Water bottles were placed on a field table nearby, and making up his mind, Max rose. If he was already here, he could lend a hand, too.

Getting one of the bottles, he stepped to the new brought-in man and bent over him. "Sir, do you hear me?" he asked, while opening the bottle. "I've got water for you."

"Get the hell away from him, damn Kraut!"

The snarl came from another GI two beds away, whose right leg was bandaged and his temple was 'decorated' with two patches. With pure hate, he glared at the teen who flinched, then the typical Schultz-mixture of kindness and irritation awoke inside him.

"I'm only giving him some water. If you can do it, be my guest," he said, with more braveness than he felt.

The man carefully sat up, obviously almost ready to try to rise. "I'll be 'your guest', cursed Nazi – with my fists when I squeeze the life out of y…"

"Shut up, Howards!"

Dr. Hawkins came out of the operation corner. "The kid is no Nazi, and one of our sergeants owes him his life, so save your fury for the real Krauts."

"Trying to be a good little boy to be spared then, aren't you?" Howards hissed, eyes bright with wrath.

"For your information, the boy's father belongs to the Underground," Hawkins said strongly. "And…"

"A traitor therefore and…"

"What do you prefer?" Max dared to raise his voice, eyes small. "Someone who follows Hitler, or someone who fights him?"

"I prefer all you damn Krauts dead!" the man yelled.

Silence spread through the tent, and everyone who was awake, stared at the soldier.

"Then I'm a better person than you, because I don't want neither you nor your comrades dead," Max replied with surprisingly strong voice, even if his heart beat wildly in his chest. "And now excuse me, I have to help this man. It's more than you do for him right now." He bent over the GI again and carefully lifted the man's head while he placed the bottle against his lips. "Here, sir, drink." Dark brown eyes, glassy with pain, looked up with gratitude at him.

"You little rat, I…" Howards was interrupted again, this time from another voice.

"To pick on a kid is really beyond even you, Howards!"

"Yeah, close your damn trap," another one said. "German or not, but this is a kid, for God's sake."

"And his father risks his life every day in his attempt to stop Hitler and help all of us to gain victory over the madman," a third GI cut in – a large, tall, dark-skinned corporal, who lifted his head and looked at Max. "Thanks for your help, kiddo."

Hawkins smiled as he realized that most of the men within the tent, who were conscious and able to think and talk, regarded the boy neutrally.

"If I want your opinion, Travers, I'll ask for it," Howards sneered. "And you should keep quiet when white men speak with each other."

"Stop it!" Hawkins growled. "I don't tolerate any racism within my field hospital. We're all soldiers and…"

"Mix your potions, Doctor, and stay out of…"

"One more word, Howards, and I'm not only reporting you, but you also get a pack drill when you can walk again. And I'm sure you'll never forget it!" Milford entered the tent; face firm, eyes piercing. "I already told you two times that in our Division we make no difference between white, black, and red. Or yellow. And if I catch you one more time offending one of your comrades because of his skin, you're going to wish you'd stayed home."

He nodded towards Travers, who smiled back at his superior before he walked towards Max. He couldn't help himself; he felt his heart softening again as he watched the boy giving one of the casualties something to drink. "Hey," he greeted gently.

"Hey, Sergeant," Max answered, smiling a little bit at him. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks, kiddo." John nodded towards Frank. "How is your friend doing?"

"He's still asleep," the youngest Schultz sighed, while he looked back down at the man he was giving the water to. Hawkins stepped towards them.

"I'll take care of him now; thanks for your help," he said.

"Any time," Max replied, while two men lifted the injured man on a stretcher and brought him towards the operation part of the tent. Then he glanced up at Milford, who was sweaty, dirty, tired – but still radiated with inner strength. "Is it over?" the teen asked quietly.

"No. We faced only weak resistance, but your comrades still try the impossible. Dusk is approaching, so we secured the conquered parts and seize the rest tomorrow."

Max lowered his head and bit his lips. "Do you know if…if many of the others are injured?"

John knew that the teen referred to the other boys. "No, I don't know. We took more than thirty of the younger ones captive, and they were brought to the camp of the 69th Division. General Patton offered to take them, and two of his own surgeons are looking after them. Like this, we can take care of our and your casualties parallel, and no open enmity breaks lose." He lowered his voice. "You just experienced how easily hostility surfaces."

Max peeked at Howards, who had lain down again while scowling and glaring daggers at the ceiling. "Yes," the boy murmured, while placing the half empty bottle of water back on the field table "To tell the truth, he creeps me out. When I imagine that I might sleep in here and that guy is only a few meters away…" He shuddered. "I can understand that he hates the Nazis, but I in person did nothing to him, so…" He shook his head while gulping.

Pursing his lips, Milford thought about the problem, then he got an idea. "I'll speak to my superior. If he doesn't mind, you can sleep in my tent."

"And Frank?" Max asked softly. "He's German too, and this Howards seems to hate everyone who was born here."

John rubbed his neck – a typical gesture when he was thinking something thoroughly through. "Well, it will be small like in a sardine can, but I think he has room there, too." He frowned and chuckled suddenly. "Hell, Jim's going to tease me mercilessly about it."

"Why?" Pure curiosity lay in Max's eyes.

"Because he already deadpanned that I would take you under my protection. And, as it seems, he knows me damn well."

TBC…

Well, there is the beginning of a special friendship. Max' point of views and his very own character will be the reason for a lot of things that will happen to his family, but also will wake a certain US-general's attention soon.

In the next chapter, there will be some more fluff between our lovebirds and Hogan tells Klink of his plans for their future together, while around them the war tears everything more apart, so there will be references to real historical events again.

I hope, you liked this new chapter and, like always, I'd be happy to get some reviews / comments.

Have a nice weekend,

Stay safe,

Yours Starflight