A/N: Alright, I'll stop torturing you guys with suspense. Here's chapter 23! Hope it's a good one! :)
Chapter 23:
The entire compound stopped of any activity. Hogan's men, Schultz, who was standing besides the four men, and the prisoners and guards present just stood their agape at what they were seeing. Their current Senior POW Officer had their Kommandant at knife-point and could kill him at any moment with or without them taking any action to try and stop it.
One guard, a private, had the guts to lift his rifle and lock and load his gun.
"I wouldn't try if I were you, Private. I'll kill your precious Kommandant before that bullet even reaches me." Walters sneered.
The private shook in his boots and lowered his gun. He swallowed hard and looked fearfully at his commanding officer. He had to save him, but how?
"Let Kommandant Klink go!" A prisoner cried out. He was no more than 19 years old.
"A prisoner defending a Kraut, huh?" Walters hissed.
"He's more humane than you'll ever be!" Another prisoner, an Englishman, yelled.
"Kinch, he's gonna kill Klink!" LeBeau exclaimed.
"Kommandant, no!" Carter yelped.
"Schultz, help me!" Klink wailed.
The big sergeant did not make any sudden movements. He only stood there, staring at his commanding officer in horror. His lip quivered and shook softly. It brought back too many horrid memories from his time in World War I.
"Schultz, do something!" Carter cried.
"Ah, ah," Schultz could not get anything else out of his mouth.
"Kinch, what do we do?!" LeBeau exclaimed.
"I'm thinking, give me a minute." Kinch tried thinking quickly. How Hogan was able to think so fast he would never know.
"We don't have a minute! That bleedin' bastard might have killed Klink by the time we think of something!" Newkirk shouted.
"None of you can save your weakling of a Kommandant, now. I suggest you follow my orders, and he'll remain unharmed...for now!" Walters snarled, the last part turning to Klink. He pressed down a bit on Klink's throat. The Kommandant struggled to pull Walters's arm away from his neck, but it was useless. He was no match to the lieutenant. His muscles and strength was not as they used to be back in World War I.
"Ge...Ge...General...Burkhalter," Klink gasped. It was becoming a bit difficult for him to breathe.
"Whoever this General Burkhalter is, he can't help you at the moment, Kommandant. You're stuck with me!" Walters answered angrily.
"What did Kommandant Klink ever do to you?!" The English prisoner called.
"I don't need a reason to get rid of this whimpering little old man! He's an issue and needs to be gotten rid of!" Walters snapped back.
"Kommandant Klink did nothing to you!"
"Let him go!" An American corporal pleaded.
"Schultz...get...Hochstetter." Klink gasped.
"That fraidy cat of a sergeant won't dare try and save you. Just look at how frozen stiff he is now," Walters said coldly.
Klink started coughing and struggled to get air into his lungs. Things were starting to get blurry. He was sure that either he would die by being slit in the neck or from loss of oxygen. He was now positive that it had been Walters who had murdered Mueller, shot Hogan, and responsible for Schneider's execution. At least he would die knowing the truth.
"That does it." Newkirk hissed. He grabbed Schultz's rifle from the fluffy guard and lock and loaded the gun. "If I aim just right, I'll get him straight in the leg or arm." He aimed the gun at his target and fired.
"Newkirk, no!" LeBeau wailed.
"Kommandant!" Carter shrieked.
Klink stood there with a blank look on his face, but was fine. Walters dropped the knife, loosened his grip on the Kommandant's throat, and fell to the ground. He had been hit by the bullet smack dab in the middle of his chest.
Newkirk stood there in shock, dropping the rifle that had been in his hands, staring at what had just happened. His eyes were bugging out of his head, and his mouth hung from its hinges. The sociopathic lieutenant, an officer of the United States Army Air Corps, had just been shot by a fellow Allied enlisted soldier. He had just committed something that could more than likely be charged as treason and had gone against Hogan's final orders. There was only one thought that was racing inside his mind at that very moment: What have I just done?
Carter sprinted towards Klink and finally reached him almost out of breath. Schultz and Langenscheidt hurried right behind Carter and made their ways quickly to their commander. The Kommandant was examining himself for any injuries and double-checking that he was still alive.
"Are you alright, Kommandant?" Carter asked, genuinely worried.
"I'm alive," Klink finally spoke. A wide grin came to his face. "I'm alive! Oh, thank Heaven, I'm alive!"
"Kommandant, are you okay?"
Klink turned his attention to Carter, finally noticing him.
"Huh, what, yes, Sergeant, I'm alright," he said, brushing himself off.
Carter turned to look at Walters, who was lying down face up beside the back end of Klink's car.
"Lieutenant Walters, can you hear me?" The sergeant asked hesitantly.
Nothing.
"Lieutenant Walters?"
There was no answer.
Carter turned to Klink, who was now filled with worry and knelt down beside the prisoner that nearly killed him. Langenscheidt was already on the ground next to Walters's right near his chest.
"He's not breathing, Kommandant," Langenscheidt said softly.
Hearing the gunshot, Wilson hurried from the infirmary and approached where Klink, Carter, Schultz, and Langenscheidt were. The camp medic knelt down and made a quick glance at his patient before him. He took his two fingers and ran them from behind Walters's ear down to his neck to check for a pulse.
Newkirk, Kinch, and LeBeau stood their watching what was in front of them. The Englishman was being held back by his two friends, so he would not sprint over to the scene to check himself.
"Please be alright, please be alright, please, God! Let him be alright!" Newkirk pleaded softly.
After about a minute, Wilson looked up from checking the lieutenant's pulse at Klink with no expression to his face and softly shook his head. Walters was dead.
"No!" Newkirk wailed. The Englishman broke free from Kinch and LeBeau and sprinted towards the lieutenant. He tried breaking through the crowd of people, when Wilson grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him away from the body.
"He's gone, Newkirk!" Wilson barked.
"No!" The Englishman cried.
Kinch and LeBeau were soon enough at their friend's side. Carter walked over to join them.
As he was getting to his feet, Langenscheidt felt something bulky inside Walters's jacket. He took out a small survival knife and cut open his jacket. His jaw dropped slightly, when he saw what was the culprit. He grabbed it out slowly and stared down at it, his hands shaking; it was a pistol gun.
"Kommandant..." he barely spoke.
Klink turned to look at the young corporal.
"Yes, Langenscheidt, what is it?" He asked, a bit annoyed with all the attention on him.
"Come here, Bitte."
Seeing the look on Langenscheidt's face, Klink hurried towards him. When he got to the corporal, Langenscheidt was already on his feet.
"What is it, Corporal?" The kommandant asked, his body starting to shiver.
Langenscheidt slowly handed over the weapon and pointed to something on it.
"Look at the initials on this," was all he said.
Klink looked down at the gun and nearly fell over dead at the sight. There, engraved on the pistol's side, were the initials of P.H.S.
"P.H.S..." he gasped.
Langenscheidt sadly nodded.
"Private Hans Schneider." He softly spoke.
The kommandant turned to the corpse of his late prisoner and filled with rage.
"I knew I should have locked you in the cooler." He sneered, remembering the night Walters had persuaded him to have gone free. Had he done it sooner, perhaps Hochstetter would have changed his opinion and finally let Private Schneider gone free...but it was too late, now. Schneider was gone, and now Walters was gone, too.
Regaining a professional behavior, Klink turned to his two comrades standing before him. "Schultz, you and Corporal Langenscheidt remove the body and bring it to the infirmary. Once you get that taken care of, meet me back in my office. I am calling General Burkhalter regarding this immediately," he ordered.
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Langenscheidt answered, strong.
"I will hurry back, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said.
The two German guards picked up Walters's now lifeless body and carried it off to the infirmary.
Once they were gone, Klink made his way to Newkirk, who had gone into a bit of shock.
"Corporal Newkirk," he said, shocked himself. "You saved my life! For three weeks, you will get two slices of white bread per ration...with butter!"
Newkirk just barely nodded.
"Thanks, Kommandant," he said, almost ghost like. His eyes looked like they were off in the distance, his mind elsewhere.
Klink walked off towards the rest of his guards and spoke to them with a loud voice.
"Guards, for three weeks, Corporal Newkirk is treated as an equal!" What Klink said after that, the five prisoners could not hear.
"Man, now I wish I would've been the one to save Klink," LeBeau grumbled to himself.
Kinch rolled his eyes, shook his head gently, then turned back to look at Newkirk.
"I...killed him...I...killed him!" Newkirk quivered.
"It was an accident, buddy. You didn't mean to kill him," Carter said, comforting.
"I saved a German...oh, God, I saved a bleedin' German!" Newkirk exclaimed.
"It's alright, Pierre. Klink's a part of the operation. Everything Colonel Hogan worked for would have been destroyed, if Klink had been killed," LeBeau pointed out.
"Louis's right, Newkirk. Without Klink, the operation would be over." Carter added in.
"Kinch, the Gov'nor's gonna kill me!" Newkirk cried, grabbing onto the radioman's jacket collar.
"It's gonna be alright, Newkirk. We're gonna figure this out," Kinch said softly.
"I could be court martialed...I could be shot!" The Englishman panicked. "Help me, Kinch, help me!"
"Calm down, Newkirk," Wilson urged. "Freaking out isn't gonna bring Walters back anymore than not freaking out will. That bullet went straight through his aorta in the heart's left ventricle. He died instantly; there was nothing I could do."
Newkirk swallowed a huge knot in his throat.
"I'm done...I'm done for...the Gov'nor's gonna murder me. I'll never see another bleedin' roll call again!"
"It's gonna be alright, mon ami. Mon Colonel will understand," LeBeau said.
Newkirk shook his head, still not able to register what he had just done.
"I killed him...I killed an Allied officer." He trembled.
"It's not like you did it on purpose, Pierre." The little Frenchman continued.
"It was an accident. A horrible, terrible accident," Wilson said softly.
"Well...I wouldn't say horrible accident."
Wilson gave LeBeau a stern glare, then returned his eyes to the shaking Englishman that was usually so composed and hid his emotions back from getting to him. He thought he would never see the day where Newkirk would confront something so mentally shattering, it would leave him psychologically traumatized.
"Newkirk, if you hadn't killed Walters, Klink would be dead right now. We'd have him for a commanding officer. He would have gone after more prisoners and guards to murder. You stopped a complete bloodshed at Stalag 13 from happening." Kinch spoke gently.
"What about the Gov'nor? He said 'no one was supposed to kill him'!"
"I think Colonel Hogan will understand the fact that you unintentionally tried to kill Walters. You were trying to aim for his leg or arm, and you aimed Schultz's gun too high on accident."
"You heard Klink! He's calling Burkhalter about it!"
"It's gonna be alright, Newkirk. I promise you."
The British corporal took a sharp, uneasy breath in and swallowed.
"Kinch, if I've never said it before until now, I sure hope you're right, mate." He tremored.