Hi, my dear readers!
Thank you so much for the big feedback. I'm really happy that you like the 'mini'-story of Max within the main-fiction so much, as well as the rest.
In the new chapter you'll see that even high ranking officers like generals are facing situations which they've never seen coming, and I'm certain you're going to love it.
Have fun,
Love and have a hopefully peaceful Whitsun
Yours Starflight
Chapter 92 –Hard times for generals
Within the next two days, nothing unusual happened. The sick and weak newcomers began to get better – even the youngest of the Martins brothers. He was able to sit on his own, and his hands didn't shake as badly anymore, yet he still needed help when eating. The new shower rooms were ready on Wednesday, but the weather thwarted the plan of setting them into operation. It was becoming a bit warmer and friendly, but it also meant that there was no water from Mother Nature.
Burkhalter, once again, used his rank to simply order the firefighters to bring a whole tank of water. The captain of the fire department tried to put his foot down, but once again it came in handy to have the leading officer of Gestapo Headquarters on your side. One call from Schmidt and three hours later the truck with the water arrived. It would ensure showers for the newcomers for the next three days.
Klink was slowly regaining some strength. The fair chance of Robert remaining or returning to Germany after the war to stay together with him, the lessening pain, the healing wound, and the good weather did little miracles to the Oberst. This, and of course his thirst for action. His bright mind and temper yearned for something to do.
As the new shower rooms were ready to be used, and the water had been filled into the cistern, he left his quarters. Clad in casual trousers, a warm sweater, simple shoes, and with his coat open, he carefully walked over the compound and received an applause from the guards and even from a lot of POWs – mainly the original ones. Everyone who was on the secret of Hogan's 'second job' had learned by now that Klink had covered for the colonel and his gang within the last few years. And those who didn't know about Papa Bear knew at least that their gauche Kommandant had saved Hogan two times. So or so, the German officer had gained their respect and even their sympathy, because everyone knew that he only got shot by Hochstetter out of revenge for rescuing Hogan.
Even some of the newcomers clapped their hands. The news that the Kommandant had offered Connor and Elison shelter in his own quarters and let them stay there had spread like a wildfire the minute they were able to think straight again. This, combined with Klink straightening out Hartmann, had abated the newcomers' usual hostile feelings towards all German officers.
Burkhalter, who had watched the last complementary works, turned around in surprise as he heard the applause beginning, and his jaw almost hit the dusty ground as he realized that the cheers were meant for Klink. Somehow the foolish man had finally won his guards over and even most of the POWs. And Burkhalter knew that he could never tell someone in Berlin about this, because a camp Kommandant who got an applause from guards and prisoners was more than suspicious.
"I'm glad to see you back on your feet, Klink," he said not unkindly, as his inferior reached him.
Wilhelm smiled at him. "I'm happy to be out of the quarters for once. The walls are really starting to close up on me."
"Just don't overdo it," Hogan said softly, beneath his breath. "I'm glad to see you here, too, but don't risk any relapse, okay?"
Burkhalter, hands clasped behind his back, rolled his eyes and sighed almost soundlessly. "I ask myself out of the two of you who's the bigger mother-hen here," he grumbled, with some amusement.
"There have been wagers running in camp concerning that for weeks now," Schultz deadpanned.
"SCHULTZ!" This came from the two colonels and general in unison, which made the Bavarian duck his head and the others around them to laugh – among them even some of the newcomers and Connor. It was incredible how easy anything seemed to be within these wires. Sometimes you almost forgot that a war was raging outside of camp and that they were supposed to be enemies. Well – sometimes.
A few minutes later the first shower was activated, and the water ran smoothly. All POWs could get clean during the morning and, above all, the water supply for Hammelburg was still given despite the enlarged number of occupants within Stalag 13.
While the men still cheered at the success, their comrades within the 3rd US Army did the same as they seized Dienheim near Oppenheim and a large bridge with it. The citizens of the small town had risen the color white everywhere and even wrote on the town signs that they were peaceful and GIs were welcomed. At 16:00, the town officially surrendered to the approaching US troops despite the threat from some SS-officers to open fire should they not fight. The SS-members and a few Wehrmacht soldiers that had remained were arrested, and the people were reassured that they weren't in any danger. Even more, the American soldiers were welcomed with open arms, so to say.
The capitulation of Dienheim gave a free pass for the US troops to cross the Rhine River in large numbers; building makeshift bridges nearby to allow tanks and more troops to advance into to the middle of South and West Germany.
A day later, March 22nd, Oppenheim surrendered, too – giving access to more important locations and roads, which were only partly usable because of the heavy damages. Yet Patton and his men proceeded, while in Coblenz, Culin and his men were building a makeshift bridge; almost ready to seize the right middle side of the Rhine River. The advance of the West Allies were unstoppable, yet Berlin clung to its stubborn denial of the fact that the Third Reich had lost the war. For them, the battles had to continue no matter what.
Therefore, it was no wonder that Burkhalter received a call from his office in the late morning that Thursday. The Führer's staff was summoned, and Hitler demanded the return of all available generals to Berlin. His axe would swing again – meaning some generals would lose their posts, others promoted, and the rest declared as 'fallen from grace'.
Burkhalter felt cold sweat running down his back after the telephone call; not knowing what to expect in Berlin. With wobbling knees, he left the Kommandantur and headed towards Klink's quarters. The Oberst was doing better, and even if he couldn't resume his duties to a full extent, he could support Schultz with the officer stuff. It was better than to allow Hogan to assist Schultz any further. Again, the Austrian prayed that no one in Berlin would ever learn of the crazy events within the camp's Kommandantur.
He didn't know if he should be relieved or angry as he found Klink sitting on the bank in front of his quarters. Yes, Burkhalter was aware of the fact that his underling was still sick and recovering from an almost mortal injury, but he was working non-stop, and the damn Saxonian was taking a sun bath. Envy did not come easily to Burkhalter. Jealousy, yes, but not envy. But now the green-eyed monster rose its head, and he had to take a deep breath to remain calm.
Stepping into the sun's spot and blocking it, he glanced down at Klink, who leaned his head against the wooden house's wall and closed his eyes; his monocle blinking in the light.
The moment the warm rays of early spring disappeared, Will came aware of his surroundings again. He had relished in the peacefulness around him, in the spring sun and pleasant smells. But the moment the shadow fell upon him, the coldness of the air returned.
Opening his eyes, he had to blink a moment to make out the features of the bulky figure in front of him. "Herr General," he greeted politely, saluting casually. He was off duty, therefore to stand at attention wasn't necessary. At least he thought so.
"I'm sorry to disturb your nap, Klink," Burkhalter said, far too kindly. "I'm impressed how easily you mirror the American sloppy way of saluting by now, but WE'RE STILL IN GERMANY HERE, AND HERE DISCIPLINE IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING!"
Of course, Klink knew that Burkhalter demanded the proper military salute, but…but an inner little devil sitting on the Oberst's shoulder made him reply, "I know, my dear General Burkhalter, and therefore I'm surprised that you obviously not only forgot your own discipline – means self-control – but also above all ignore the Book concerning the rights of casualties, which frees them of any military protocol as long as they're on a sick leave. Me tipping my temple was far more than protocol demands under the given circumstances – after all, I'm not even in uniform."
Burkhalter's face had turned into a very interesting shade of red while he glared at Klink. Yes, the Saxonian was clad in civilian clothing, but with the heavy military coat around his shoulders. And they were in the middle of a POW camp, dammit.
"What's the matter here? Anything we can help you with, General?"
The voice from behind forced Burkhalter to close his eyes and slowly count to three before he turned around towards a frowning US colonel.
"Hogan, is there the tiniest chance on Earth that you can stay out of any damn discussion I have with Klink?"
"Sorry, sir, but I heard you over half of the compound, and Klink is only peacefully sitting here – and is, above all, a sick man. Please take some consideration." He cocked his head as he took in the general's small eyes and his expression. "What happened that your knitters are in the boxers? You're steaming like a loco ready to speed up."
'Stay calm, Albert. Don't let him provoke you. You know how this oversized boy ticks. Don't let him push your buttons. You're stronger than this,' Burkhalter's inner voice said, trying to keep his composure.
"'The knitters in my boxers' wear the name 'Berlin', 'order', 'call' and 'Hitl…'" He stopped himself and took another deep breath, deciding to ignore Hogan and turned back towards Klink. "I've been ordered back to Berlin. As it seems, the Führer has to make some very serious decisions how to proceed from here on, and…"
"Maybe you can give him a little advice from me – from colonel to private, that is," Hogan spoke up, amiable. "He really should surrender. Then he doesn't have to rack his tiny brain how to order more nasty things. The battles are over, we can stop taking apart this pretty country, and we can all go home." He bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning the special smirk that infuriated Burkhalter on a regular basis.
'Stay calm! Don't let him get to you. Stay calm! Don't let him get to you!' Good God, this became a mantra and nothing else, as Burkhalter realized.
"Hogan, please," Klink said softly, but also firmly. That he addressed the younger man by his family name and not the usual 'Robert' did little wonders. Hogan sighed, but shut up; crossing his arms in front of his chest while giving his secret lover a tiny nod. Message received.
The Oberst drove his attention back to his superior. "In other words, you have to leave us," he addressed Burkhalter neutrally, but also politely.
"Ja," the staff officer nodded, somehow managing to remain in control. "I'll leave Schultz in charge, but seeing that you're doing better, you can assist him here and there – despite that you're officially on sick leave." He stretched the last sentence with a meaningful glance; referring to the little encounter at the beginning of their talk.
"No problem, Herr General. If Schultz brings me the reports, lists, and statistics, I can look through them before they're officially signed and sent to Berlin." He lifted a hand as Hogan opened his mouth to protest. "I'm sure I can manage some reading as long as Schultz does the paperwork. Corrections of my part is expectable, so please excuse that there will be here and there some markings I have to do on the reports."
"Of course," Burkhalter agreed. "As long as they're done in your handwriting and not in Colonel Hogan's again," he added sourly, shooting a glare at the American.
"Hey, I only tried to help, you know. And…"
"We already had this discussion, Hogan, so please skip any further explanations," Burkhalter interrupted him, before he pinched his nose. He felt a headache approaching. "All right, I have a briefing with Sergeant Schultz concerning the desk job, then I'm packing my belongings and…" He glanced at Hogan. "Any chance that Corporal LeBeau can have some lunch prepared for me within the next half hour?"
"This 'help' is welcomed by you, isn't it?" the colonel taunted, received a warning glance from Klink and sighed. "I'll speak with him."
"Thank you," Burkhalter replied simply, before something else nagged at his mind – and his honor. "Hogan?" he called out the moment the US officer turned to leave, and the younger man looked back at him.
"Yes?"
"I shouldn't say this. I'm sure half of the Brass would be enraged, and the other half would call me treacherous, but…your support within the last few days and even weeks since Klink almost got killed is…appreciated. At least by me. I know that you…certainly overstepped boundaries. Not only ours, but also yours, yet you help keep the camp running." He straightened his fat shape. "I also know that you did it mainly for your men and for those you regard as your friends; even if they wear a German uniform. Yet your willingness to do what was necessary also ensured the safety of all occupants within these wires, so…" He took another deep breath. "Thank you."
There were many words Hogan wanted to reply – like 'You're right, I did it only for my men', or 'I didn't help, I was forced to intervene to pretend worse', or something like that. But, to his own surprise, the only response that came over his lips was a sincere "You're welcome."
Burkhalter was taken aback. It was plain to see on his round face. Yet, fortunately, he didn't give any comment. Nodding at the two colonels with a "Good day, Gentlemen," he headed back towards the Kommandantur.
An hour later, Burkhalter's staff car left camp, and Klink had returned to bed. Both, he and Hogan, had a certain feeling that Burkhalter's nervousness to be called back to Berlin was not for naught. They should be right.
*** HH *** HH ***
Burkhalter reached Berlin in the later evening and got a frosty welcome in the Führerbunker. Hell, it wasn't his fault that his secretary informed him this late about the summoning or that the roads were in a catastrophic condition.
Only one by one he realized that the cold welcome wasn't really directed at him alone, but that the whole atmosphere was darker than usual. Hell, Hitler's shepherd dog, Goldie, lay somewhere quiet in an edge, tail between her legs in a clear display of fear. Even Fräulein Braun gave Burkhalter a forced smile in return before quickly leaving the room. He knew what this meant: The Führer had gotten into one of his infamous raging fits, and he was glad to have 'missed' it.
Fortunately, he even managed to avoid Germany's first man. He had no wish to meet him when the man was obviously in one of his darkest moods. Yet he ran into his 'dear friend' and later didn't know if it was pure luck or fate that 'Heinrich' was too distracted to address reproaches.
Burkhalter was baffled to learn that Himmler lost his position as the Highest Army Commander of the Weichsel (a river in later Poland) and had been replaced with General Gotthard Heinici – a clear proof that Hitler was anything but content with Himmler's work as an army commander. Like always, the 'tiny private' blamed everyone but himself for the losses of ground and personnel at the Front – a Front that closed up more and more towards Berlin.
Burkhalter was glad that the meeting was already over. He exchanged a few words with the other still present generals and took leave; asking Himmler to give the Führer his respect and his apology for his late arrival.
Yet, as Albert walked through the dirty and dark streets only illuminated by the moonlight, his 'dear friend's' words still rang in his ears, "You chose your time wisely for your trip to Hammelburg, seeing that in your absence not only the OHK in Zossen was attacked, but also Berlin. At least you were safe; even if I don't understand what's so important about one Stalag to stay away from your post for so long."
In a certain way, 'Heinrich' was right. To stay for a week in Stalag 13 at the current state of the war was odd. And his explanation that his presence had been necessary to prevent the camp from tumbling into chaos only got him a snort and a sneered, "Those swine you still call POWs have to stay down or get shot. I don't understand why you go through all this effort for them. Every non-con can give the order to open fire if they don't obey. A general is not needed for it – but the Luft-Stalags are still your responsibility. For now, at least."
The last sentence had woken Burkhalter's utter distrust, but the only answer he got to his question was a cool, "Just wait."
Burkhalter reached the house where his flat was located and stepped into the icy building. His gut told him that he walked on thin ice – that he was about to become one more victim of Hitler's streak to blame others for his failures. And he also had a certain feeling that his 'dear friend' wouldn't be any help this time. 'Heinrich' had changed a lot – or he was now showing his true face. Albert didn't know what of the two possibilities was true, but an inner voice warned him that he was about to get into serious trouble. Maybe he was too human for their liking – therefore, too weak in their eyes. He knew how the Führer and his confidants (at least those he still called that) ticked in this matter. Something this human like sympathy towards everyone who wasn't a 'loyal German' was almost betrayal for them, and Burkhalter had proven a few times that he simply did that. He had masked it with his clear decision to stick to the Geneva Conventions, but it had been made clear within the last two weeks that they didn't count for Hitler anymore. And everyone who didn't agree with him on this matter was almost a traitor.
Burkhalter remembered his short telephone talk last week with Himmler as he complained about SS-Major Hartmann and demanded punishment for the man's inhumane handling of the POWs at Camp 64. His 'dear friend' had rebuked him for it and ordered to let the major go. Already then, Albert had gotten the feeling that something was off…and this feeling increased now.
Yes, Himmler had taken the command of all POW camps last autumn despite for the Luft-Stalags. (Note of the author: this is not historical; Himmler took charge for all POW camps in autumn 1944, but this wouldn't fit with the original TV show of 'Hogan's Heroes', in which Burkhalter was in charge 'til the end, so I changed this detail to stick to canon.) Only because of this splitting had Burkhalter been able to pull a few strings to let the POWs of Camp 64 go to Stalag 13. They had become his responsibility and were much safer as if they would be in the clutches of the SS and Himmler. Yet Burkhalter knew that he had tested his boundaries; maybe even overstepped them as he ordered a train to pick the men up. Trains belonged to the most valuable resources of war machinery now, and where to deploy them was only up to Hitler by decree. That the general had simply 'borrowed' one had been more than risky, and Himmler had made no secret of his irritation about the liberty Albert took in this case, yet he had covered for him.
One last time, like 'Heinrich' had sternly told him this evening with clear irritation on his face. The man had acted cold towards him as if he was a stranger.
Cold…
As Burkhalter opened the front door to his flat and stepped into the icy, dark rooms, the coldness was not only in the air, but also in his veins. He was afraid. He couldn't deny it. He knew that he was a step away from falling from grace, and he had no clue how to stop this train that already headed towards the abyss.
*** HH *** HH ***
While Burkhalter lay in his bed in the cold and slightly damp flat, Hogan and Klink were snuggled up together. For a few days they would have a pause from all the chaos and stress, because some nourishment and medical supplies from Nürnberg would be delivered tomorrow. Yes, they all were packed up like sardines in a can, but the newly built shower rooms and warmer weather had lightened the mood a little bit.
Because of this, all the two colonels felt were content and peace. Relishing in each other's proximity, both men simply lay there and listened to the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. Connor and Elison's voices had trailed off a quarter hour ago, and snoring mixed with the ticking. But the two lovebirds didn't care. It was peaceful around them, they had each other, the night was calm, and Will was doing better. For a few hours, nothing else counted – while in the world outside of the wires, the insanity increased.
*** HH *** HH ***
The next day began as quiet as the last one had ended – at least in Stalag 13. Schultz had returned to the later circles of roll call, which lifted the mood of the POWs and guards very much. The officers, including Elison, had a decent breakfast in Klink's quarters, then Robert helped Will get clothed. No, the Oberst wouldn't return to duty – not officially – but would go have a few glances in the office, rest in the sun, or take a nap on the bed. He still had dark circles beneath his eyes, and he was pale and even thinner than before, but the ashen grey of his face had been replaced with a more rosy complexion, and the pain had reduced to a bearable throbbing here and there. The hours in the fresh air did wonders.
While the life in the camp continued in its own unique routine, in Coblenz, Max was busy with helping the medical staff transfer the field hospital from the town's edge to a large building in the center. High ranking visitors arrived in Wesel, a smaller town northern of Düsseldorf and Duisburg. Until the late evening, the British and American troops fought and succeeded. More then 90% of the town lay in ruins, and the bridges of the Rhine had been destroyed by the Wehrmacht weeks ago. And yet, the remains of said bridges were important for the British troops, who used them to build their own bridges and make it possible for them, American, and Canadian troops to cross the river in the north of the Ruhr area, where Germany's coal mines and industrial centers were located.
Operation Plunder was the beginning of the last big step to conquer Germany. In the south by Remagen and Coblenz, the US troops advanced into the middle of the Third Reich, crossing the Lippe River. In the north, the Brits were crossing the Rhine in Wesel and Rees, a small village nearby.
The latter was watched by a few important men: Winston Churchill in person had come to witness the crucial process with Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery. The latter had gained victory in Africa over the German legendary Reichs-Field Marshall Rommel. The 'Desert Fox' had a part in D-Day and was now busy with conquering the northern middle area of Germany. His plan was to advance towards Hamburg; a foreseen move, because his troops would hinder the Red Army from reaching Denmark, but this was a few weeks in the future.
While the two British gentlemen watched the troops crossing the Rhine, another high ranking officer – this time from the US – reached Coblenz to get an impression of the proceeding there.
3-Star General Alexander Butler had missed General Patton by two days, because the latter was already heading south to meet with the troops that were advancing towards Frankfurt. Officers and GIs of the 69th and 87th US-Infantry built the military government in Coblenz and would rule the town alone until trusted civilians were chosen to do the job.
Having a good view over the valley and the Rhine-Mosel-Delta from one of the hills, Butler watched how an emergency bridge was built over the river. On the other side, the castle Ehrenbreitstein was clear to see despite the cloudy weather. It was still in German hands, but despite the three ring-walls the castle possessed, it would be conquered within a short range of time.
"The town is a mess," his personal adjutant, Major Richard Lalley, said quietly.
Butler snorted and let his gaze wander over the ruins covered in ash and dust. They protruded like broken teeth of a slayed dragon into the skies – a mirror of death that had raged within the city within the last several months. The whole downtown seemed to be destroyed and the outer areas looked only a little bit better. Looking through his spyglass, Butler drove his attention to the streets. He saw several tanks freeing the roads from debris. The weathered green uniforms of GIs were like little moving points everywhere, and the noises of construction of the makeshift bridge rising echoed even up to the hill.
"What a sorry sight," the general murmured. "I saw photos of the town when it was blooming – a cozy city with buildings which were a mirror of the last centuries' architects. Middle Ages, Baroque, Empire Style, Jugendstil…" He shook his head. "The town already suffered in the first war, but now…" He pressed his lips into a thin line. "What insanity," he whispered. "I don't dare imagine how many civilians lost their lives because of Hitler's madness and our attempts to free the world from him and his fellows." His thoughts wandered off to his protegee.
He could understand that Robert Hogan was furious because of the many innocent lives that had been taken. Seeing the destroyed city below, Butler felt nausea, but this wasn't a new feeling. He had felt likewise a few times since he had left London to take his new 'job' as broker between the Pentagon, London, and the Front. His direct contact partners were General Eisenhower, State Secretary Stettinius, and President Roosevelt. It was important for them to get detailed information about advances, problems, and foils, but also to learn of things which were needed. On both sides.
Eisenhower himself had loosened up the fraternization ban between US troops and the German civilians and ordered 400,000 tons of nourishment last November to be distributed. It had saved thousands of lives, and it had another side-effect Eisenhower – and Butler – had hoped for; the mercy and support had shown the Germans that they didn't have to fear the US troops. Rather the opposite. They were rescuers in a time in which their own executive forces had become an enemy. It was no wonder that most American troops were welcomed with open arms.
"Do you want to have a closer look at everything, General?" Lalley asked. Butler was torn out of his thoughts and nodded.
"Sure. I'm tired of sleeping in a tent. Maybe for once we'll have a solid roof over our heads tonight," he replied, and climbed back into the jeep. The car, together with a small escort, began to drive towards Coblenz – and Butler couldn't know what a crazy mini-adventure lay ahead for him.
*** HH ***
Maximilian Schultz had had his share of practice outside of school. He had been eight when the war started and never really knew anything else since then. Even if Heidelberg was mostly in one piece, the dark side of the war had slipped into the town for over a year now and demanded help even from the youngest ones. Whenever school was over, Max, Frank, and the others had been requested to assist in small factories or other facilities, barely having any free time for themselves.
But this had been nothing compared to the work now. The field hospital had been moved to one of the last standing buildings within downtown that was, like a sheer miracle, the historical townhall. In earlier times it had been an Jesuit-Abbey, became then a school and finally the townhall – with an own church, so to say. This church was the only part that was destroyed during the heavy air-raids within the last months. Built U-shaped in three wings, with walls from the Middle Ages, the building had a strong construction and offered room for the US-troops main needs. The banner of Stars and Stripes flapped now on the roof and showed that this would be the US-HQ for quite some time.
One of the wings was turned into a hospital, the other wing was used by the officers who would be the town government for now, and the middle part that also held the historical large council hall, would be used in the future for what it was originally built: for offices and public departments.
Yet to change the former offices of the left wing into a hospital was a challenge of its own. Beds were risen, medical equipment was installed, sanitary supplies had to be re-fitted and repaired, and the medical utensils had to be sorted and shelved before the first casualties were transferred. One of the larger offices was changed into an operating room and it was agreed that the this hospital would be generally accessible also for the German people as soon as the infrastructure and the security it allowed.
And Max was in the middle of the whole progress of organize at least a little part of the town's function.
Frank was still not able to walk, but he sat on one of the beds, rolled up bandages, polished medical instruments, and tried to help as much as he could. After he had overcome his shock of being injured and captured, he had needed a day to come to terms with everything. Max was obviously comfortable with the whole situation, and it gave Frank a kind of anchor even if they only saw each other during meals and evenings.
Max worked hard with a few GIs to set up furniture – partly from the troop, partly from abandoned houses that were simply plundered. He dragged nightstands, carried field beds, and distributed blankets and pillows. He issued water bottles and got lunch for the men from the field kitchen and was supported by a few privates. Here, in the makeshift hospital, something like another little world existed parallel to what went on outside, and Max was glad about it.
He wasn't surprised that two days ago German medical personnel appeared and offered their assistance to the US medics, too. A handful of doctors and nurses had remained in Coblenz and treated German casualties in hideouts and Fort Konstantin until the town had completely surrendered. After a few talks with US officers, they were offered a chance to work at the makeshift hospital, and they agreed. If there was one thing that seemed to overcome all points of views, heritages, uniforms, and religions, then it was the general duty of medics to treat wounded people. Doctors seemed to understand each other on principle and even the civilian nurses and US medics came to a sort of consensus within a day, despite the language difficulties.
On Friday, the field hospital at the edge of town had been evacuated, and all casualties had found a place in the makeshift hospital in Coblenz' townhall. Even a few members of the Wehrmacht, SS, and Volkssturm were treated there, but were separated from the US soldiers and watched by a dozen GIs.
It was midday, and Max was certain that his back was going to quit working soon as he saw a few Jeeps arriving on the Jesuitenplatz (Jesuit Square) that was the center court of the building. Curios he watched the newcomers for a longer moment, before he went towards the middle part of the house to catch some tools he was sent to get. Like this he saw the newcomers enter the entrance of the building. The darker green jackets with some polished insignias and the neat caps revealed one of them as an officer, the other man beside him wore clean clothes, too, but if he was of rank or not was not clear for Max.
Arrival of an officer nothing uncommon, but the boy was absolutely certain that he hadn't seen this man before – and by now he knew maybe a dozen higher ranking officers. Curiously, he watched the man and his companion for a moment as one of the lieutenants stepped towards them, saluted, and began to talk to them. Max wasn't familiar with the US insignias of different ranks, but the man was certainly somewhere in his fifties and given the whole demeanor, he certainly was someone from the staff, so…
From the outside, voices were heard, and they sounded…frantic. A moment later, the front doors burst open, and two GIs rushed in; others followed with five stretchers. The words of 'accident' and 'It came down so quickly,' mingled with 'Get the doctors,' and 'Where shall we bring them,' echoed through the large room.
With a wild, beating heart, Max watched how a few of the doctors raced into the anteroom giving instructions. The strange officer and his companion moved aside to make room for the emergency teams, worry plainly written on their faces.
"Max, get bandages as much as you can carry and bring them over to the emergency rooms!" one of the nurses shouted in the little Schultz's direction. He saluted hastily with a loud 'okay' and raced towards the medical store room.
Butler looked to the left and saw a smaller, slender figure in a German makeshift uniform of the Volkssturm hastening away. Odd! Then his attention was driven back to the happenings around him.
The next minutes were full of controlled chaos, orders, instructions, and decisions before the wounded men were brought deeper into the building.
"What happened?" Butler finally addressed one of the GIs, who had brought the casualties to the hospital.
The man saluted firmly as he realized the officer's rank and replied, "General, Sir, one of the pontoons that was lifted to be carried over half of the risen emergency bridge came down as the ropes gave out. It fell down on a few wooden planks that flew in every direction and injured those men." He sighed while rubbing his neck. "Those five have been hit directly, and a few only have a few bruises and will be brought for a medical check within the next few minutes."
Butler swore softly beneath his breath. Accidents like this happened here and there, despite all security measures taken in the effort to protect the men; but material could tire out, and unfortunate events were inevitable. But they cost lives, strength, and were poison for the troops' morale.
He heard hasty steps, and looking up, he saw the German boy running towards the area where the doctors had gone in; arms full of rolled up bandages. Frowning, Butler cocked his head. "Pray to tell me what the little Kraut is doing here?"
The GI glanced over his shoulder before he answered. "Sir, it's the first time I've seen him, but it has to be 'the boy who didn't shoot'. As far as I heard, he assists our medics at the moment and…"
"'The boy who didn't shoot?" Lalley cut in, flabbergasted. "What kind of title is that?"
The man allowed himself a smile. "It's a story that had made the rounds for days now among all of us. As we began to conquer Coblenz, one of our sergeants…" He didn't get any further as the front doors were opened again, and a few soldiers brought in more men. Most were able to walk, and others were on a stretcher.
Butler didn't care for any etiquette and cursed. Dammit, if he had counted correctly, they had at least a dozen casualties because of a stupid ripped rope! Tensed, he watched how the bruised men were carefully helped down on the floor or chairs, which had been placed along the wall. He was about to go to the men, as he heard a gasp nearby. Turning around, he saw the German boy, who stared horrified at one of the soldiers.
"JOHN!"
Max had returned to the anteroom after delivering the bandages as he heard more men arriving. Knowing that he could help, he hastened to the entrance area and stopped dead in his tracks as he recognized one of the men, who lay on a stretcher; a bloodied handkerchief was miserably wrapped around his head.
Shouting his friend's name, he ran towards the staff sergeant; pushing himself through the others. With dread, he knelt down beside the stretcher and reached out for the man's hand. "John, it's me, Max. Do you hear me?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Milford had no headache, he had the certain feeling that his head was going to burst any second. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and it was far too bright around him, yet he recognized the young voice nearby.
"Max?" he mumbled, while slender fingers slipped into his.
"Yes, it's me. Where does it hurt most – besides your head?"
Despite the fact that Milford couldn't open his eyes, he heard the fear in his young friend's tone and tried to comfort him. "I'm fine," he mumbled.
"No, you are not fine!" Max growled. "You have a head wound and…are you dizzy? Sick? Does the light hurt your eyes?" he asked rather frantically, knowing that these symptoms would suggest a concussion.
"Hm-hm," was the only reply John could make.
Max looked around. Everyone was busy with giving emergency treatment to the casualties, yet someone had to get a doctor for John. The sooner the better. His gaze found the strange officer, and not giving a damn of the man's rank and position, he rose; his hand still holding John's. "Sir, get one of the doctors, please!" he called towards the officer and his companion.
The man's eyes widened almost comically, and Max assumed that the man wasn't used to receiving instructions. But he couldn't care less. John was his friend, and Schultz's youngest son was always loyal to his friends. "Quick! He has a concussion. Get one of the doctors!" Then he turned towards two GI's, who first glanced at the strange officer, stiffened, turned their heads towards the boy and gaped at him. Max rolled his eyes. The guy was an officer, so what? There were more important things to consider right now.
"Get Staff Sergeant Milford's stretcher up. We have a few spare rooms. I'll show you to them. He needs rest and twilight at best," Max said, almost forcefully to the two soldiers; shoulders straightened.
Lalley closed his mouth with an audible 'click'. "Has that boy just given us orders, sir?" he addressed his superior, who still stared with big eyes at the German teen. Then, out of nowhere, amusement rose in him. That, and he also felt touched. Obviously the youth had built some friendship with the sergeant and was worried for him.
"Get a doctor," he ordered Lalley. "I'll follow the little Kraut." He nodded in the direction where two GIs just lifted the stretcher, while the boy hurried them to follow him deeper into the building to their left. Over the distance, the kid's and Butler's eyes met again, and the teen waved both arms.
"Hurry up, sir, please!" Then he all but instructed the two GIs where to bring the stretcher.
"You heard the young man," Butler said, with a tone of disbelief in his voice. Lalley nodded, still half baffled, half amused, and jogged into the direction where the doctors had vanished with the severely wounded men.
Butler turned towards the soldier, who had begun to tell him the story of 'the boy who didn't shoot'. "Okay, Private, I want the background story. The whole story, please."
The man cleared his throat. "General, I only heard rumors, but…"
"General?" Another GI stopped beside them and saluted. "Corporal David Greenhill," he introduced himself. "Staff Sergeant Milford, who was just brought into this direction," he nodded towards the hallway where the others had vanished, "is my direct superior. I was with him as he and the 'story' took place."
Butler nodded curiously. "Okay, Corporal, enlighten me."
Around them, nurses began to take care of the bruised men, and conversations continued everywhere, but every sentence was cut off by the general's sudden outburst. "On the request of PAPA BEAR?"
*** HH ***
Max was more than worried as the two GIs carefully lifted John from the stretcher and placed him on the bed in the smaller room beside a large sick room next door. It was tiny, but gave Milford some privacy – a single-room so to say; a luxury not even higher ranking officers had most of the times during war. The teen closed one of the two curtains to block out the daylight without bathing the room in complete darkness before he returned to the sick bed.
"John?" he asked softly, taking one of the man's hands into his again. "A doctor is on his way. Just lie still and try to breathe, okay?"
"'kay," came the hoarse reply, while John still had his eyes closed. The world seemed to spin around him, and his stomach felt sick, but somehow Max's proximity helped him. He didn't want to worry his little friend more than he already did by moaning or vomiting, so he controlled himself as well as he could.
One of the two soldiers glanced down at the two unusual friends, and even if he didn't like the Germans, he felt touched by the boy's clear concern. "Head up, kid; the sergeant is a tough man," he heard himself murmuring, ignoring the surprised gaze of his comrade.
Max looked up. "I know, sir," he answered softly. "He's a great warrior with his heart in the right place. He is stronger than that, but I hate it to see him suffer."
The man pursed his lips, snorted not unkindly, then turned to leave. The same moment, a doctor Max hadn't seen before entered the room. Behind him was the man who had stood beside the strange officer in the anteroom.
"What do we have here?" the surgeon asked.
"Concussion," Max replied, which earned him a disbelieving glance from the medic.
"Are you a doctor, or what?"
"No, sir, but I know the symptoms of a concussion, and Sergeant Milford shows them," the teen answered strongly.
Grumbling something beneath his breath, he bent over John, examined him, and asked a few questions, while the two GIs left the room; still baffled about the friendship that seemed to have been developed between the sergeant and the kid.
The medic looked up. "You were right; he has a concussion. Do you want to study medicine in the future?" he asked, while unwrapping Milford's head.
"It occurred to me, yes," Max nodded. "My older brothers are more for the technical stuff, but I…I like to help people," he admitted.
The man hummed and glanced at him. "Then you can assist me here."
The kid nodded with some relief. "I would love to, sir. Thank you."
Outside, Lalley stood and watched everything with high interest. He only got distracted as Butler arrived beside him; a corporal on his heels, who looked with concern at the injured sergeant.
Max heard the steps and glanced over his shoulder. A smile tugged at his mouth as he recognized the young man. "Corporal Greenhill," he said softy, offered the doctor the last bandage, and went on silent feet to the door.
"Hi Max," David greeted before he nodded towards Milford. "How is he?"
"The head wound isn't so bad, but he has a concussion," the teen explained sadly. Then he looked at Butler and Lalley. "Thank you for getting the doctor so quickly."
Greenhill frowned. "Getting the doctor?" he asked, perplexed, his eyes fixed on the general and his adjutant.
Max nodded. "Yes, I asked the gentlemen to get a doctor for John, and…"
"You mean, you gave the order to get a doctor," Lalley corrected him, carefully suppressing the smirk that was about to pull at his mouth. He liked his superior. He really did. But to watch a kid giving the general an order was now, after the worst was over, really funny.
"You ordered…?" David gasped, his eyes were about to pop out of his head, while he stared at Butler, who grimaced.
Max shrugged. "Well, yes. There was not much time and…well, I know this gentleman here is an officer, but…"
"'An officer'?" The corporal's voice rose an octave.
The little Schultz blinked. "Uh…yes. An officer, that much I recognize, but…"
"You sent Ge…"
Max threw up his hands. "Hell, John needed help, and this gentleman was nearby. So, where's the problem?"
Greenhill gasped. "You sent General Butler to get a doctor?"
The teen rolled his eyes. "Yes, so wha…GENERAL?" he all but squeaked as David's words sunk in. With eyes wide as saucers, flushing cheeks, and an open mouth, Max stared at 'the officer' in front of him.
Butler couldn't help himself anymore. He began to laugh quietly, while beside him Lalley chuckled strong enough to cough. Inside the room, the doctor shook his head in amused frustration, while David took off his steel helmet and combed his fingers through his tousled hair.
"Really, Max, you did it again."
"What did I do again?" the teen asked meekly, face red like a tomato while he looked apologizingly at the general.
"Earning yourself a name. Now you're also 'the boy who used a general as a gopher'," David deadpanned.
TBC…
Well, Max always means well, but he has a little streak to make a blunder – just like his father. I imagined the whole scene while adding it to the story, and had a lot of fun to write it. I hope, you liked it.
In the next chapter, neither Max nor Hogan have it easy, because both face difficult talks – Max with Butler, and Robert is forced to tell Wilhelm about Auschwitz.
Hoping that you had fun with the new chapter, I'll be delighted to get new feedback.
Have a nice rest of the weekend, and please stay safe,
Love
Your Starflight
