Hi, my dear readers,
Thank you for the feedback (once again), and sorry for the (also again) late update. I know that you're all curious and even a little bit worried for Burkhalter, and want to learn what will happen next.
Well, our 'dear general' is in hot water – in very hot water, and will need help to get out of it. More I won't tell you just right now; you've to read the new chapter.
Enjoy,
Love
Your Starflight
Chapter 95 - Burkhalter in adversity
Absolute silence hung in the air of the Ministry of Defense in Berlin. Albert Burkhalter could only stare at the wall, not seeing everything. His blood that boiled in fury was slowly turning into ice water.
Fallen from grace…and why? Because he had dared to argue – to contradict somebody he had regarded as a friend. Discussion was allowed among friends, wasn't it? Hell, a real friend didn't say what he or she wanted to hear, but spoke their own mind. But this unwritten law seemed to cease to exist by now. He and Himmler had their share of disagreements in earlier times, and usually, they gave voice to their thoughts without getting into a dispute. But not now. The outcome of the topic had been too important for Burkhalter to give in easily like he often did before, and the Reichsführer had reacted in a way he had never thought to experience; with a threat and more. Heinrich had technically quit their friendship – over an argument that shouldn't have come up at all. The fate of many POW camps; among them a few Luft-Stalags.
The order was simple: evacuate the camps. It had been done before, but this time, the procedure held some additional details Burkhalter simply couldn't obey. Not if he stuck true to his regards and honor as an officer.
All POWs of the chosen camps – among them Stalag 13 – who were able to be transported or walk, should be transferred to central Germany. Those who were too ill should be locked up and left either to die or be shot – especially Russian POWs, which were regarded by the Nazis as lower beings. What beat the whole thing was that higher ranking POW officers, beginning with lieutenants and majors, should be brought to strategically important locations to be used as living shields against the air raids of the Allies. Those of even higher ranks, (like Lt. colonels, colonels, colonel majors, and generals), should be taken to Berlin to ensure the Führer's safety. Albert was outraged. It went against all written and unwritten laws even during a war.
Himmler's answer had shocked him even more, because the POWs hit the jackpot compared with the other prisoners of the Third Reich. Working camps were ordered to be evacuated, too. This time with a distinction to the way it had been done before: mass executions for those who were too weak. The others had to walk to other camps. And Albert lowered his head as he recalled the telephone talk.
"What you order is murder, Heinrich," he snarled. "To shoot all those people who have done nothing else than build our projects and work in our factories by force is something the world will not forgive us for. Plain and simple. And concerning the POWs – especially the officers; they are protected by the Geneva Conventions and by officers' honor!" He had risen his voice in the end to drown out Himmler's answer. "To hell with Hitler's fear that those men could be integrated in the Allies' troops after the liberation," he shouted. "Most of the POWs are so weakened by hunger and lack of medical treatment by now that they're lucky to be still alive. Wariness is one thing, but to kill thousands of them in cold blood is against all rules. Rules the Führer signed himself. It's a war crime! And God have mercy with us if these misdeeds become known to the Allies. Can you imagine what will happen to our boys then?"
"Who surrendered to the enemy or allowed to be taken captive is a traitor. The Führer and I do not care for the fates of those weaklings," had been the answer. And Albert had been about ready to see red.
"Weaklings? You've been at the Front yourself and have seen first-hand what happens there. Our enemies are too much and too strong for us by now. You lost battles, too – the reason why the Führer pulled you off from your post. Were those men under your command weaklings, too, or were they simply overrun by too many opponents? Did you order them to withdraw, or did you send them to their doom, knowing fully what it would mean for them?" An inner voice had warned him that he maybe just overdid it, but the soldier in him wouldn't have it any longer that someone, who wasn't a trained officer, spoke this nasty over comrades giving their lives.
At that moment, something had changed within their telephone talk. Himmler hadn't been reasonable at all, but had warned Burkhalter icily that he was already under observation because of the last several weeks, and that he better be very, very careful now with what he said.
That had been too much. Burkhalter's control had slipped. "I'm under observation because of the last several weeks? What the hell do you mean with that? I'm utterly loyal to the Fü…"
The answer had pulled the carpet away from under his feet.
"It's odd that first you had the incredible luck in the beginning of February of driving to South Berlin a few minutes before a heavy air raid happened and escape from danger. Then you stop at the Wehrmacht headquarters in Zossen that promptly gets attacked a few weeks later – after we were able to mask it for years! The rocket tests went wrong, despite the fact that the scientists ensured us everything worked perfectly until one of the launchers was brought to one of YOUR camps. Afterwards, you simply transferred a bunch of opponent POW officers from the SS to your responsibility and even sent them a train to pick them up – a luxury not even our own civilians can have now. You were eager to offer them the more lax life in one of your camps. And in the end, you travel for no reason to Bavaria to said Luft-Stalag just in time to avoid another attack on Berlin. Don't you think that leaves a bad taste in my mouth?"
For a long moment, Albert had been unable to say anything before managing to utter, "What do you imply here?"
"Simple: I ask myself where your loyalty really lies. Two times you escaped a deadly air raid by simply avoiding it – as if you had known about it in advance. Then one of the most important projects of the Third Reich went wrong under your responsibility and…"
"May I remember you that I lost my house in the whole process and even thought for hours that my family was killed, too?" Burkhalter had growled.
"A low price, if you compare it with what our glorious Reich lost because of this failure. Thinking closer of it, it all makes sense now – especially when I remember the last few minutes of your impertinent words and your refusal to obey the Führer's orders."
Coldness had begun to creep through the general's veins. "I don't disobey, I only have strong second thoughts that these orders will bring us more disad…"
"You were warned, Albert. I, in person, regret it deeply to be forced to make this step, but your statements and thoughts within the last few minutes opened my eyes, which had been closed for far too long because of our friendship. Maybe I would have looked through you sooner if it weren't for our personal relationship."
"What do you mean?" Burkhalter had hissed, a cold fist gripping for his stomach.
"You're no longer trustworthy."
"WHAT?!" Albert had known what would come next, yet the following words had been a full blow.
"Lay down your work. Leave everything as it is, and get your personal life done. Maybe a letter to your wife is in order. Then come over to the Führer Bunker. I expect you in two hours. No less."
Then the phone had been hung up. Now Albert Burkhalter could only sit there, while the words and what lay between the lines slowly sunk in. He had fallen from grace – was 'no longer trustworthy' – and he knew what that meant. He not only would be removed from his position, but Himmler's suggestion of writing a letter to his family spoke volumes. With a little bit of luck, he was granted suicide – shooting himself or taking poison. If the Führer was less merciful, he would face a firing squad for 'high treason' because he 'sympathized' with the enemy.
Burkhalter heard his blood droning in his ears, while his heart drummed hard in his chest. He felt sick, while cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was about to be killed – by his own hand or by a few rifles pointed at him by his own people. After all he did within the last several years for one insane man…'Sympathizing with the enemy'…Because he had followed the rules written down in the Geneva Conventions? Because he had not allowed more captured officers to fall prey to the inhumane way of being transferred by walking hundreds of kilometers? Because he had taken them away from the SS' clutches and put them into his responsibility? Because he had sent a train to pick those deadly exhausted men up?
He remembered those minutes in Stalag 13's infirmary and the made-up shelters. Those men had been living skeletons, more or less. He remembered how reserved, yet grateful those men's commanding officer, Connor, had been and…Connor…Most of his men wouldn't survive a walk to Nürnberg like Himmler had ordered. Between Stalag 13 and the POW camp in Nürnberg lay more than 93 miles in distance. A 15 day walk. Most were still too weak, which meant they would be left behind to die by starvation, locked up in the Barracks. And Connor would 'serve' as a living shield…just like Hogan.
Hogan…Klink was going to scream bloody murder. One thing Burkhalter had learned within the last four months; if someone came towards Hogan too close, Klink turned into a raging lion. And the other way around. Hogan changed into a fierce bear when someone threatened the usually gauche Kommandant, so…Bear…Papa Bear…Hogan…Out of nowhere, his mind began to wander.
Everything Heinrich had named as proof for Burkhalter's so-called 'disloyalty' and 'working in secret for the Allies' was somehow connected with Stalag 13 – and particularly with one certain US officer: Colonel Robert Hogan.
The trial in Berlin against Hochstetter happened because of the major's abuse of the colonel, which led in the end for Burkhalter, Klink, Schultz, and Schmidt to seek shelter in a metro tunnel because of the big air raid Himmler now accused him of knowing about in advance.
The failure of the mobile rocket launchers…Hogan had leaned against one of them casually and grinned far too satisfied after the test went wrong. What the hell had the damn Ami done? He had no place at the experiment, yet he somehow had smuggled himself near the rocket, and it promptly flew in a false direction. The same happened half a year ago during the first attempted attack of the V2 rocket, where Hogan had been a chosen as a witness for the Third Reich's 'glorious new weapon'. The blasted thing flew the wrong way, and Hogan had been there.
The 'silent engine' of the new test-plane – it made hellish noises after it was brought to Stalag 13…The deuterium oxide that had been stocked in the camp – it was common water afterwards. The dynamite that had been stocked in the camp was brought to a secret location – the location was blown up before the whole dynamite could be transferred to it. A tiger tank vanished from the camp, only to re-appear all of a sudden and damaged an entire Barracks before it all but steamrolled down a part of the camp's fence and vanished into the woods.
The healing spring that supposedly was found beneath Stalag 13 and of which he, Burkhalter, took a bottle with him to Berlin – it turned out to be ordinary water. He, Klink, and another staff officer had a spa at Stalag 13 because of this 'wonder water', the only question being why if this water was simply without any healing abilities? Well, the only odd thing that happened during the spa was the alleged dusting out of their uniforms they first thought had vanished. Hogan himself had ordered for the cleaning. Cleaning – or had he borrowed the clothes for his own purpose? Hadn't it been at the same time the SS and Gestapo searched for escaped POWs from another camp? Had this 'cleaning', better to say temporary vanishing of uniforms, had something to do with it? The fled men had never been found, after all.
Burkhalter frowned as his mind explored the many, many mystical happenings around and in Stalag 13 – glad to have something to distract himself with. The many escapees or men on flight, who disappeared around the Hammelburg area. The failed projects, the blowing ups of air bases, bridges, a few facilities…Hell, even other generals and staff officers of the Wehrmacht and SS all of sudden deserted after they had set food into the camp. Deserted – or kidnapped and sent to somewhere else?
Projects, which had been carefully planned, went wrong whenever they were ought to happen or were tested at or near the camp. And then this impertinent blackmailing last year, as he flirted with a nice young woman, and some compromising photos appeared. He was forced to cancel Klink's planned transfer to the Russian Front, or those photos would have been given to his wife. It had been Hogan, who had instantly pointed out how well he was recognizable in those photos even before the general had seen them. As if the American had known about them in advance. Interesting, wasn't it?
If you didn't prefer to face the obvious truth, then only one explanation for this particular case was logical; the whole blackmailing had been caused by Hogan to spare Klink certain death at the Russian Front. Even if he had no proof, Burkhalter was sure of it. And then the two times prior in which Klink had stood with one foot already in his grave and was about to face a firing squad. Both times he had come out of it in victory – with Hogan's help, who pointed out how selfless and brave the Kommandant first had saved Burkhalter and later another higher ranking officer, who quit his accusation against the Saxonian out of the same reason.
Hogan needed Klink as the Kommandant of Stalag 13 – the supposed toughest camp in all of Germany without 'any successful escape'. Well, if you didn't count the flight of Colonel Crittendon (two times), the escape of Corporal LeBeau (to get Klink for Hogan's rescue), and a few other times Hogan himself tried to flee, or a few men of his gang vanished. The latter happened often enough, only to be given away to save them by Hogan. It even had been mentioned at the trial in Berlin, but it had been put to the files, because the prospect of POWs tricking their guards like this was simply unthinkable. At least in the eyes of the Nazis. Yet it obviously happened.
Burkhalter remembered how he tried to transfer Klink, again, and coincidentally, a few of Hogan's men escaped. Only the Kommandant knew where to find them. How so? Because Hogan had told him – after all, the colonel had been responsible for this faked escape in the first place. It had been a collusive game to save Klink's neck (again).
But to win that game, those men had to escape first. Just like this, ominous mass escapes during Klink's holiday occurred as two SS officers wanted to take over Stalag 13 permanently. Like a miracle, the men came back only hours after Klink returned. And Hogan, like the clever fox he was, asked the Kommandant and Burkhalter for forgiveness for those men because they had been 'out of their mind'. These particular cases stunk to the highest of heavens. In other words, the POWs had a chance to go and return to their liking on Hogan's orders – just like Hochstetter had accused the colonel of.
Hochstetter…As it seemed, the man had been right all the time, and Hogan was indeed responsible for all these crazy events. What if all those assaults, attacks, and other odd happenings around Hammelburg and in North Bavaria were attributable to Hogan? What if the man really was Papa Bear?
Burkhalter remembered how easily Hogan had schemed a trap for von Neuhaus a few weeks ago. Or how well thought through and clever his plans had been whenever he and Burkhalter had been forced to work hand in hand. When it came to scheming, Hogan was in his element like a fish in the water – he was used to making the impossible possible. The same had been two weeks ago, as he had found ways to offer the newcomers of Camp 64 shelter, where no room had been before.
The man was a genius in improvising and manipulated everything and everyone to his advantage. There was no way in hell that this man would still be a POW if he really wanted to escape. If the latter would have been the case, the colonel would be back in London and in the air; flying attacks years ago.
No, Hogan was here for a purpose. He had a job to do in Germany. A job as a master spy, who masked his second identity with a perfect mixture of carelessness and responsibility for his men, which he often showed in many discussions or reactions. Hogan was an overgrown boy on the outside, but in truth was a dangerous predator. Awkward and innocent looking, dangerous and territorial, biding and strong – just like a bear…Papa Bear!
The name was chosen perfectly, because if Hogan was indeed this infamous spy, then he really fought and protected his territory and his cubs – his friends – like a bear.
If this all was really true, then Hogan was a mastermind beyond imagination. He had tricked them all – including Burkhalter himself. Hell, he even had helped the American after Hochstetter lived his rage out on him.
If Burkhalter found proof that could convict Hogan as Papa Bear and revealed him, then it would be a hard blow for the Allies – but not important anymore. For this, it was already too late. The war was lost for Germany, despite Hitler's stubborn clinging to false hopes. If it came out that Papa Bear was indeed Hogan, then he had worked beneath Burkhalter's nose for three years without being caught, which would be an even bigger failure of Albert than everything else. If at all, he would be hung for being so blind all the time.
No, revealing Papa Bear to the regime would worsen everything in the current situation. But if Hogan was indeed Papa Bear, then he was Burkhalter's only hope. If this cursed Ami really had smuggled people out of camp and out of Germany – and this was the only explanation for the many vanished men and women within the last three years – then he could also help Burkhalter to flee the country.
Yet the general was no fool. Hogan had no reason to help him. Burkhalter was an opponent staff officer responsible for the Luft-Stalags (among other things), had loosely interpreted the Geneva Conventions here and there when the camp was needed to test projects, and they both had their share of heated arguments. The whole mess with the movable rocket launchers was still fresh in his mind.
No, he needed to strike a deal with the colonel; therefore, he had to give him something for what he could demand in return to be smuggled out of Germany. Those new orders from Hitler (and Himmler) included Stalag 13. It would mean certain death for many former POWs of Camp 64 and certainly for Hogan and Connor, too. If he could exchange his knowledge before it became an official order in turn for him being stowed away to Switzerland, then he maybe had a chance of survival.
He knew that Hogan's agreement wasn't guaranteed. The Allies wanted him, and Hogan could use the given chance to send him to London. So it was necessary to make Hogan promise him to keep his side of the bargain. Only then he could be sure that the clever colonel wouldn't trick him. You could say about Hogan whatever you wanted, but he had his own code of honor. If he gave his word, it was indeed enough.
But to make this deal, Burkhalter first had to reach Stalag 13 in secret. If he didn't show up in the Führer Bunker within the next…he looked at his wrist watch. He had wasted almost a quarter hour now. If he didn't report to Himmler within the given range of time, it would only last a half hour more at best before the bloodhounds of the SS and Gestapo were sent out.
Packing up a few documents from his desk, which maybe would convince Hogan even more to help him, he stowed everything in his briefcase, put on his coat and cap, then went to the door. Resting his hand on the door knob, he looked around for the last time. The large, somehow cozy office with wooden paneling, the large desk from the Renaissance area…Here he had worked for the last two and a half years. Here he had sit with Goering, his so-called 'good friend' Heinrich, even with the Führer himself a few times. There had been good times, but also bad ones. And the worst time had been the last few minutes during his phone call with Himmler. Somehow it already reflected what lay ahead for him: being alone.
Taking a deep breath, Burkhalter opened the door and closed it behind him. The anteroom was empty; his secretary was at home. She lived in Berlin Köpenick, and even this outer quarter in the east lay more or less in ruins. Albert regretted that he couldn't bit her farewell. On the other hand, she would be safe from Himmler's rage when the Reichsführer realized that he hadn't obeyed like a good little lamb.
He went down the stairs. In the under level, most of the windows were destroyed, and he knew that the back wings was unusable too. Stepping through the main entrance, he stood a few seconds later in the Wilhelm street.
The weather was cloudy, and a cold wind blew through the ruins around him. But even the most fresh and coldest air couldn't banish the stench of burnt wood, ashes, charred stones, and scorched bodies. He knew that he would never forget this stench.
He looked around for his driver. With all rail stations more or less wrecked and no other public transportation left, he had to go by car. He would use his driver's service for a few streets, trick him, then travel the rest of the way alone. He didn't want the young man in trouble because of him.
The same moment, he heard quicks steps behind him, and for a moment, his stomach clenched in fear. He then recognized the young man in question, who hurried up to reach him. "Herr General, do you need my service?" He asked as politely as ever.
"Yes, Friedhelm," he nodded, addressing the driver by his given name, but with the polite formality usual between master and servant. "We have new orders."
The young man saluted and went out into the street, where the staff car with the double axe was parked. The underground carpark was closed. It wasn't safe anymore after the ceiling came down from the back wing of the building. The front area of the cellars was still standing, but no one dared to step inside. Burkhalter followed his driver and sat down in his regular seat in the back.
Friedhelm Buchholz slipped behind the wheel and started the motor. "To where are we off, sir?"
"To Potsdam, please," he answered.
The young man frowned. Until a few months ago, the Luftwaffe headquarters had been here. By now, most parts of the town were abandoned. Everyone who had legs fled away from Berlin.
"To Potsdam?" He asked carefully.
"Yes," Burkhalter nodded, leaned back in his seat, and began to root for something in his briefcase; looking as casual and slightly irritated as always.
Shrugging his shoulders, Friedhelm turned the wheel and began driving to the northwest. Burkhalter had chosen this direction on purpose. In the government district, the walls had eyes and ears, and his car was well known. When Himmler realized that he had fled, he would search for him. Everyone who saw him driving away would state that he took off to the northwest; not the south. It would buy him some time to largen his head start.
They drove in silence through Berlin. Many streets were unpassable, and Friedhelm had to use other routes than usual. There seemed to be no building standing anymore; only ruins and facades, which protruded into the grey skies. Here and there, people walked through the ruins, searching their former homes for something they could use. In a few streets that weren't so gravely damaged, prostitutes offered their services, and Burkhalter simply knew that many of those women did it out of despair to get some nourishment for their children. He felt sick at those thoughts, but denial had never been his style. So he didn't close his eyes for the harsh truth.
As they neared Schöneberg, Burkhalter took a deep breath. It was about time to do step two of his plan. "Friedhelm, please stop at the side over there. I need some fresh air."
"Don't you feel well, sir?" The driver asked, while steering the car to the side of the street.
"I think I ate something bad." Albert nodded, and left the car the moment it stopped.
Walking a few steps back and forth, he brought some distance between the car and himself, stopped there, then took a few deep breathes. He opened his coat, waited half a minute, then finally returned to the vehicle, only to stop. Hectically, he began to search the ground, and – of course – Friedhelm left the car.
"Did you lose something, Herr General?"
"Yes, my tie pin – the one I got from Heinrich for my last birthday," he said.
"Maybe you lost it while opening your coat," Friedhelm suggested, and walked towards the spot where Burkhalter had been half a minute ago.
It was that moment Albert took action. With a few quick steps, he was around the car, slipped behind the wheel, and closed the door. He had barely started the motor, when the door to the passenger seat opened, and Friedhelm slid into it.
Burkhalter cursed and fingered for his weapon, ready to force the young man at gunpoint out of the car, but he stopped as the young man said in an odd mixture of firmness and gentleness, "Herr General, I've served you for years now, and I've come to know you maybe better than anyone else. May I speak openly?" He received no answer, and the older man was tensed, so Friedhelm continued calmly. "Your destination is not Potsdam. There is nothing left that would require your presence there. You didn't take any personal belongings with you, which means that you won't stay overnight there. Now you tried to steal your own staff car and wanted to leave me behind. Ergo, your travel is not official, and you haven't gotten new orders for a mission. You want to clear out for whatever reason that may be."
Burkhalter stared at him. Dammit, the boy knew him too well. "Buchholz," he said quietly, referring to him like it was usual between comrades. "To where I have to go now is no coming back. Therefore, I want you to get to safety and…"
"Dangerous missions are one thing, sir. You had them often enough – and every time I drove you," Friedhelm dared to interrupt him. "But not now – because there is no mission. And seeing that you took nothing with you, but came straight from your office, means that you're in a hurry. They're after you, aren't they?" His hazel eyes looked at him with many emotions – compassion and anger were among them, but also determination and a soft kind of affection.
"Son, I've fallen from grace," Burkhalter admitted, a bitter taste in the mouth. "I have orders to report to the Führer Bunker. I don't have to tell you why. I fought my whole life for this country after I moved to Germany and married my wife. I gave everything to let Hitler have his victory, but our enemies are too strong now. And because I cannot tolerate mass murders and more inhumane misdeeds from our side, I got into an argument with a man I thought to be my friend."
"Reichsführer Himmler," Friedhelm guessed, and the general nodded.
"Yes. Heinrich thinks of me all of sudden as unworthy, because I managed to survive two fatal air raids in Berlin and sent a train to pick up POWs, who walked for weeks through ice and snow. This kind of inhumanity is already treason for Heinrich, and…"
"The POWs of Camp 64, I guess," the younger man murmured, then he lifted both brows. "Your decision to drive to the northwest was as a red herring for the SS and Gestapo. In truth you…" He cocked his head and nodded slowly. "You want to go to Stalag 13, am I right? This camp was special for you – and you know the area there because your house was there until a few weeks ago."
Albert grimaced and looked out the window down the street. "It's not too far away from Austria."
"And there are people who maybe can help you. The Senior POW Officer. That Colonel Hogan fellow," Friedhelm mused. "You think he is the one who can help you."
Burkhalter stared at him again. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
Buchholz sighed. "Sir, I already intended to write a book about this particular camp after the war, because I never saw and heard so many incredible, odd, and funny things like I did whenever we were there. Hogan and his men, Schultz, and even Kommandant Klink – they are like a bunch of schoolboys, but I also witnessed how fiercely they act if it is needed. I often watched the colonel vanishing into his Barracks after one of his men whispered something to him. I saw him playing the guards and even I became aware of the people who vanished around Hammelburg. I simply know that something is amiss there, and given how often you groused in the same way about the colonel, I think you regard it likewise. This man is not a simple POW, but he is more. And you hope that he can help you now." He rubbed his neck and took a deep breath. "A good thing that I was able to fill the gas tank completely. Maybe we don't have to stop 'til we reach Hammelburg."
"We?" Burkhalter echoed, and Friedhelm nodded firmly.
"Yes, Herr General, we. I became your driver the day you were promoted to your current rank. I'll be it 'til the end – one way or the other. I'll drive you to Hammelburg and Stalag 13. Then I'll take the car with me and abandon it somewhere in a completely different direction before I try to keep a low profile in a small town."
Albert watched him closely before he said, "Say that I allow this; you do know the risk you're taking? The SS and Wehrmacht have become more or less paranoid when it comes to men in the middle of our country who don't fight. The guns are sitting loosely, and everyone is quickly assumed to be a deserter. If one of those guys see you running around in your uniform or even in civil clothes, then you're done for. And if they found out who you are for real, you're done for."
Friedhelm nodded. "I understand that, sir, but I vowed to stay loyal to you – and I meant it. You don't know all the hidden paths I scouted whenever you were at Stalag 13 or one of the other camps – or in towns having meetings. There is not much to do for a driver then, and I used my free time to explore the roads around." He turned towards Burkhalter. "As soon as the Reichsführer becomes aware that you took flight, road barriers won't be the only risks we have to overcome if we want to reach Stalag 13 in secret. Believe me, you're going to need someone who knows a lot about the street network of this country in and out – and if it comes to the worst – if we get caught – I've fulfilled my duty at least. You were always polite and kind to me, contraire to other officers I worked for before. For most of them, I was air, and the others looked down at me. You always had a nice word for me or a short nod; even some 'thank yous' and sharing your thoughts with me. You trusted me then; please trust me now."
Burkhalter felt deeply touched in the face of so much loyalty. "You're risking your life, you know," he said softly.
"Death is everywhere, sir. And Judas is even more ready to give his kiss than many times before. The man you thought to be your friend stabbed your back and wants you dead now – because of some orders you got, but cannot fulfill in the name of humanity. I don't know what kind of orders they are, and I don't care. But if you, who always was dutiful, can't obey now, then those commands have to be grave. You deserve a medal for deceiving cruelness; not death. This is one of the reasons why I will have your back no matter what. You're a honorable and decent man, Herr General, and if I can support you, then I'll do it – consequences be dammed."
To his horror, Burkhalter felt his throat tightening. Here he was, a young man who had almost his whole life ahead of him, was ready to risk his neck out of downright loyalty to him – the man Albert Burkhalter, not the general.
'There you got your answer, Hochstetter,' he thought, remembering the talk in the cooler a day prior to the Major's firing squad. 'Yes, you were right. Heinrich doesn't move a finger now for me, but turned his back on me. Yet there is one man who doesn't see the general, but me. Friedhelm is young and a mediocrity compared to all those high ranking staff members and politicians, but he has a greatness of heart those men will never reach. And how is the old saying? One loyal soul values more than a thousand empty promises.'
"I can only voice my gratitude for your devotion, son. If I indeed have a chance to get out of Germany, I'll take you with me. You have no family as far as I remember your file, am I right?"
"Yes, sir. Both of my parents and other relatives died in the first world war or its aftermaths. I was raised in an orphanage and attended the military after school," Buchholz confirmed.
Burkhalter made an affirming gesture. "Like I said: When I have the tiniest chance to leave this country and reach Switzerland, for example, I'll take you with me. I have some money in a Swiss bank account, and my family is there living in a house my wife rented. I'm sure I'm going to need your services then, too, so don't fear that you would be marooned in a foreign country without a job. If we do this together, we will leave this whole mess together. Deal?" He offered his hand, knowing that he could indeed trust the young man.
Friedhelm accepted the hand and shook it. "Deal." He felt a little bit awkward for a second. Burkhalter was so many ranks above him, yet at that very moment, they were no longer general and driver, but two men on the flight depending on each other.
"Thank you, sir. You will have no regrets about it," he said firmly. It sounded like an oath.
Burkhalter smiled. "I've been betrayed many times before, but somehow I trust you." Then he opened the door. "I think we should switch places again," he said, and Friedhelm dared to chuckle.
"My pleasure, sir! And then we have to hurry. I want to be as far away from Berlin as possible when the Reichsführer realizes that you are no longer…uh…available."
For a second, the cold darkness that had filled Albert with dread made room for a beam of light, and he heard himself laughing. Heinrich's betrayal had hit him hard, but he would think later of it. Right now, they had a little journey to do – back to the most unruly and chaotic camp that would ever go down in history.
*** HH *** HH ***
It became clear that General Albert Burkhalter had decided to run when he didn't show up in the Führer Bunker two and a half hours after the fateful telephone discussion. A search for him in the ministry and afterwards in his flat were without success. Burkhalter had vanished. Again, more than two hours later, a furious Reichsführer couldn't do anything than ball his fists and admitting to Germany's highest ranking man that the general, who had fallen from grace, had preferred to flee instead of facing death 'honorably'.
No one who wasn't needed within the inner rooms of the bunker left as quickly as possible as the walls were about to shake from raging and screaming. Deserted officers were always a humiliation. If a staff officer – a general – plunked his post and duty down, then it was the utmost betrayal in Hitler's eyes. And, of course, he blamed his SS leader for the turn of events. "You have been friends; you should have seen this coming!" Were the outraged words that rang throughout the Führer's office.
Red faced, and with a grim expression, Himmler gave orders to the radioman to alert the Gestapo and all garrisons of the Gestapo and SS that Albert Burkhalter was a wanted man – preferably caught alive, but dead was also welcomed. Yet the chance to find the renegade general soon was low. Between their argument and now, almost five hours had gone by, giving the fled general a good head start.
An hour later, the first rumors were given that his car had been seen in the northwest of Berlin. For once, Burkhalter proved to be more clever than his former 'friend', because it was presumed that the general had tried to flee to Denmark or Sweden.
Road blockings were raised at the different outposts between Berlin, Hamburg, and Kiel, yet not all reachable by phone or radio. SS patrols roamed the main roads as far as they could, because most highways and country roads were partly useable. Therefore, the police was ordered to check smaller traffic routes. But Burkhalter's car remained missing.
While a seething Reichsführer waited for news, the staff car with double axes was already between Kassel and Fulda, using small country lines and roads leading from village to village. Buchholz avoided strongly damaged highways and country roads. They would need longer to reach their destiny, but it was much safer than travelling through the general public's eye.
And while here and there small Easter fires burned in the early evening, and most civilians didn't know if this would be their last Easter feast of their lives or if the next one would be done in freedom, the staff car headed south towards Stalag 13.
*** HH *** HH ***
The highest ranking officers within the wires of Stalag 13, including Schultz and Elison, had spent the evening talking about the different Easter traditions, emptying two bottles of wine Hogan had brought from the stock in the tunnels. Like he admitted, there were still a few of them left 'downstairs' along with a bottle of whisky and brandy, but the men agreed on leaving them there. There was no way to explain why they had a hangover the next day, when the official camp stock was sans any alcohol. Even in the Kommandant's quarters and the Kommandantur was no drop of alcohol.
At eleven o'clock, they bid each other 'goodnight'. Lieutenant Harrison was accompanied back to Barracks 2 by Schultz, and half an hour later, sleep found them all.
It was in the middle of the night when the spotlights of a car neared the main gates. The guards frowned and readied their weapons, but lowered them as they recognized the vehicle with the double axes. A short check proved that General Burkhalter had arrived, and he was allowed into the camp.
"We made it," Albert murmured, and Buchholz nodded with a sigh before he suppressed a yawn. He parked the car between the Kommandantur and the well at its other side. Like this, the car couldn't be seen from the street. "Thank you, son. I never knew that there are so many paths through German forests and fields."
The young man laughed softly. "Yes, we have quite the traffic net here." He left the car, rounded it, and opened the door for the general. "Shall I accompany you to Kommandant Klink's quarters?"
Burkhalter shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't think that many things have changed since I was here the last time. Which means that Klink's quarters are crowded with American officers – and I have no desire that Hogan, of all people, sees me in my underwear. I'll sleep in the backroom of the office. With a little bit of luck, the…" He turned around as he heard quick steps nearing.
Langenscheidt stopped in front of him and saluted. "Good morning, Herr General," he said breathlessly. "Sorry that I wasn't at the main gates, but I made a round through the camp and…"
"No reason to apologize, Corporal. Your sense of duty is well-known to me," Burkhalter interrupted him not unkindly. "Tell me, is the field bed in the backroom still there?" He nodded towards the Kommandantur.
"Jawohl, sir," Karl nodded.
"Very good. I'll sleep there. Please show my driver where he can sleep. Is there something left in the camp's kitchen that Herr Buchholz and I can have for a late dinner? We came non-stop from Berlin and had no chance to stop at a restaurant."
Langenscheidt pursed his lips. "We have carrot stew with some flesh and bread, sir."
Burkhalter grimaced. "Better than nothing," he murmured.
"Oh, it tastes good. Corporal LeBeau weaved his cooking magic once again," Karl added, "Now it is really a pleasure to have a bowl of it."
A short snort of amusement escaped Albert. "Leave it to the little cockroach to make even a carrot stew tasty." He sighed. "Please order some of the soup and some bread for my driver and me, Corporal. Goodnight."
Langenscheidt saluted and waved to Buchholz to follow him. Friedhelm exchanged a short glance with Burkhalter, saluted, and followed Karl after the general signaled him that he was released for now. Sighing, the Austrian looked around.
The camp was deep asleep; only the guards stood along the wires and talked quietly with each other. A few of the watch dogs had already lain down again – the general's smell known to them and made them relax. Only a few of them still watched the lonely figure.
Sighing, and hoping that he would live to see another Easter Saturday, Burkhalter headed towards the Kommandantur. He was tired like hell, yet his senses were still on alert. He had made it to Stalag 13, but this didn't mean that he was out of danger. Far from it. And the more complicated part – to convict Hogan and make the colonel strike a deal with him – would start after morning roll call.
TBC…
That's THE top of everything – Burkhalter hopes that Hogan is Papa Bear and wants his help. But a drowning man grips for every straw he can get, and one thing is certain: Hogan has more decency and honor in one drop of blood than Burkhalter former 'friends' in their whole body…
I also liked the idea that Burkhalter has at least one loyal person around him, and this detail shows him the big difference between his supposed friends and a true one.
In the next chapter, everything comes out into the open – Hogan's secret and Burkhalter's real reason for his arrival. Both men are facing an unique situation, with Robert having Klink and his friends around him and the general all alone by himself…
I hope, you liked the new chapter and the way the events turned 'til now, so please let me know what you think of it.
Have a nice weekend,
Stay safe and healthy,
Love
Yours Starflight
