Hogan didn't know it, but he could easily have got the full support of Kommandant Klink for any enterprise, possibly even including assassination, which stopped General Staremberg in his tracks. Klink never said anything - one didn't, not if one valued one's continued good health - but the SS, in his opinion, were beyond the pale. He'd heard things about Staremberg, too, things which made him feel ill. Had he dared, he might have hinted to Hogan about the desirability of keeping some of the prisoners out of sight during the general's visit.
It didn't help when he received a phone call from General Burkhalter, late in the evening.
"Klink," he said, "shut up and listen." Lately he'd taken to saying that at the start of every phone call; it saved time. "I have received a very disturbing report from a reliable source in Berlin. It seems your expected visit from General Staremberg tomorrow may be something other than a mere courtesy call."
Klink felt the first twinge of the irregular spasm in his stomach which always came on whenever a complicated situation got worse. "What do you mean, Herr General?"
He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if Burkhalter hesitated before he replied, and when the general spoke, he chose his words with care. "Staremberg is a man of certain ideas. He feels that the administration of prisoner of war camps by the Luftwaffe is not as efficient as it could be. I understand he is drafting a plan to bring all POW camps under the jurisdiction of the SS, and his visit to Stalag 13 may be in the nature of a fact finding mission."
The spasm got worse. Klink swallowed nervously, and murmured, "What should I do, General?"
"Just observe, take note of anything he says, and report back to me. I have already taken a few steps to ensure that any attempt on Staremberg's part to usurp our authority will meet with opposition at the highest level. But any information you can obtain will be of the greatest assistance. Remember, Klink, if they do take over, you will no longer retain your position as Kommandant. And you know what that means."
Active service...a combat unit. The unspoken thought was as tangible as a dead body; both of them were silent as they contemplated the possibility.
Then Burkhalter added with obvious reluctance, "Klink, I am relying on you in this matter. Do not let me down."
"Yes, Herr General. I mean, no, Herr General," replied Klink miserably. For once, the illusion that he was the General's trusted right-hand man failed to raise his spirits. He put the receiver down, sighed deeply, and went to take a dose of milk of magnesia.
He slept badly, troubled in equal measure by the unrelenting heat, the thought of tomorrow's visit, and the unfortunate side-effects of the dose he'd taken; and he woke up in a dark mood. Every instinct he possessed, both of self-preservation and of simple human decency, prompted him to consult Colonel Hogan, or at least advise him of what might lie in their future, but he knew it was out of the question. And that just made the turmoil in his stomach even worse.
The morning routine normally soothed him. He liked routine, he liked Ordnung; it was comforting to have something secure and unchanging in his life. Not today, however. Today it just reminded him of everything he had to lose, if Staremberg put his plans into effect.
I could end up on the front line, he thought, as he strode out of the office for the morning roll-call report. I could end up lying dead in the snow.
The North African desert wasn't an option anymore. Just as well; at least he didn't have to worry about being baked. Only frozen.
"Report!" he snapped out, as Schultz came hurrying forward.
Schultz won't stand a chance in combat. Now, where did that thought come from? He was sure he didn't care in the least what happened to Schultz.
"Herr Kommandant, I beg to report, all present and accounted for," gabbled Schultz, his face aglow.
Klink cast a look along the double line of prisoners outside Barracks 2. His prisoners, his responsibility, but perhaps not for much longer. His eye fell on Kinchloe, and unconsciously he frowned. If Staremberg were to take personal charge of the Luftstalag network, given the stories one heard about him, what would it mean for...?
No. It was no good following any such line of thought. Should it come to that, he'd have plenty to worry about on his own account. He dismissed the assembly and went back to his office. If he had to die a horrible death in a foreign land, at least he'd make sure he got all his paperwork up to date first.
But time passed, and the pile of documents on his desk remained untouched.
He had left instructions with Schultz that he was not to be disturbed. Naturally, Hogan paid no attention to that. It wasn't even an hour before raised voices in the outer office broke into Klink's reverie.
Not today, Hogan, thought the Kommandant wearily. He got up and went to the door.
Schultz was obviously doing his best, placing himself directly in front of the door. One couldn't ask for a more effective obstacle; dodging around his solid bulk was just impossible. As usual, Hogan had resorted to talking his way past. He'd do it, too; he always did.
"Hogan, I am very busy this morning," said Klink. "I don't have time for any of your usual trivialities."
Hogan gave him a wounded look. "Well, gee, Kommandant, I know you're a busy man, but this is important. It's about..." He glanced at Schultz, then lowered his voice, "irregularities in the mail."
Trust Hogan to find something which couldn't be overlooked, and bring it up. Klink glared at him for a few seconds before the inevitable capitulation. "Very well, Hogan. Come in. Not you, Schultz," he added. "And keep your ears away from the door."
The Kommandant returned to his chair behind the desk. "Make it quick, Hogan. I'm not in the mood."
Hogan got right to the point. "Okay, Kommandant. I've had some complaints from the men about missing items in the mail. Carter's aunt sent him a pair of mittens, which he never received. He has really cold hands, you know, even in summer. And Newkirk's still waiting for the plum pudding that Schultz seized for inspection."
"Duly noted, Hogan. It will be looked into," replied Klink listlessly. "Anything else?"
"You might at least take some notes," said Hogan reproachfully. "There's more. LeBeau says that some of his letters have even gone missing." He produced a slip of paper, and read off, "From Suzanne, in Rouen; Louise, in Montmartre - that's the artist's model - and three letters at least from Jeannette. You know, Jeannette, the one who...well, maybe you don't know about that. Just forget I mentioned it."
A grunt was the only reply. Hogan waited for more; nothing more came.
"You know, Kommandant," he observed, "I get the feeling you're not really interested."
"Hogan, I couldn't care less about your problems," replied Klink. "I have enough of my own."
"You do seem a little distracted. Is it because of General Staremberg's visit?"
"Who told you about...Of course. Blabbermouth Schultz." Klink threw up one hand. "I'd transfer him to the Eastern Front, if I wasn't afraid of meeting him when I get there."
Hogan, who had apparently been about to start on about the mail again, stopped short.
"The Eastern Front?" he said slowly.
"There, or somewhere else. Who knows?" There, he'd let the cat out of the bag; he might as well do the job properly. "It seems General Staremberg is planning to take over running all the prisoner of war camps. And if he does, that's the end of my desk job."
"Well, sir, you've always dreamed of getting back into active service," observed Hogan. "Up in the wild blue yonder, at the controls of your Heinkel, the Iron Eagle, soaring far above the snowfields..."
He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Klink would never have admitted it, but a small gleam of hope flickered within him as Hogan pondered. There had been situations before when the Kommandant had found himself peering over the edge of disaster, to be drawn back from the brink when Hogan came up with some scheme or other. So it wasn't surprising that Klink found himself looking towards his senior prisoner of war, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Hogan continued to meditate; opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it; reflected some more; smiled as if he'd come to a decision, and finally turned to the Kommandant.
"If you could just see about the problem with the mail before you go..." he said.