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*This is the first two chapters of the first book in a series of six books which treats the premise set forth in the televison show in a more serious vein. Delve into these characters and enjoy the story. Please e-mail the author for ordering information.
Scene One
- One -
It was a cold day, overcast, nasty, in November of 1944. The location was a prisoner of war camp near the town of Hammelburg, not far the city of Dusseldorf in western Germany. Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer, walked across the compound of Luftstalag 13 after lunch. Hogan, a tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties, glanced up at the sky.Probably start to snow later. Well, let's see what old Klink's up to. Might learn something interesting.
Hogan walked up the stairs leading to the Kommandant's office. Hilda, the camp secretary, wasn't at her desk. Pity. The beautiful girl brightened up the place. Hogan knocked on Klink's door and, as usual, walked in without waiting for a reply. Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the commandant of Luftstalag 13, a tall, lean man with a receding hairline and a monocle on his left eye, was sitting at his desk, staring at a piece of paper.
"Afternoon, Kommandant!" Hogan said cheerfully.
Klink looked up slowly, very slowly.
"Nasty day, isn't it?" Hogan continued, oblivious to Klink's lack of response."Should snow later on."
"What . . . Oh . . . " Klink made a visible effort to rouse himself. Then his eyes dropped to the desk again. "What . . . What do you want, Colonel Hogan?"
"Just dropped in for a chat," Hogan said. "But if you're busy?"
Klink failed to respond.
His strange behavior finally got through to Hogan. "Are you all right, Kommandant?" Hogan asked.
"You don't really care if I am or not, do you, Hogan?"
Hogan was taken aback by the toneless question. He fumbled uncharacteristically for a response. "I, uh --- "
"Please," continued the weary voice, "don't bother to lie. No. All you see is the uniform. That's all the world ever sees --- uniforms, targets, strategic missions. Not the people. No, never the people."
"Kommandant?" Klink was making him decidedly uneasy.
"Colonel Hogan," the blue eyes turned to him, "for once, can you see past the uniform? Past the fact that I am a German, a man you probably despise, possibly hate? Past everything you assume about me?"
"I, uh . . . "
"Then, please, Colonel Hogan, leave. I am asking you as one man to another.Please, leave. Now."
"I . . . " Hogan was at a loss for words as he stared at Klink. Klink's eyes had dropped back to his desk; he looked surprisingly tired.
"Yes, sir," Hogan finally said. He walked to the door. "If you want anything . . . "
But Klink had stopped listening to him. Hogan shook his head and left.
His men were waiting for him in his office, still listening in on the coffee pot that was the receiver for the bug in Klink's office.
"Hilda just came in; Klink sent her home," Corporal Peter Newkirk, an Englishman, reported.
"Yeah. And told Schultz he wasn't to be disturbed for any reason," Sergeant Andrew Carter, the American explosives expert, added.
"What's up, Colonel?" Sergeant James Kinchloe, a tall black man with a mustache, asked.
"I have no idea. I've never seen him like this before," Hogan admitted.
Glass clinked in Klink's office.
Sergeant Richard Baker, another black American, grinned. "Starting a little early, aren't we?" Then he started as the sound of shattering glass came from the office.
Then a sound they had never heard before. One that startled and even shocked them.
"Colonel," Corporal Louis Le Beau, a diminutive Frenchman, finally said. "Klink's . . . crying?"
Hogan looked unusually sober. "Turn it off."
It was dark, nearly time for lights out when Hogan walked across the compound to Klink's quarters. As Hogan had expected, it had started to snow --- a good, steady snow. Klink stood on his porch, watching the snow. Or, at least, staring out at it.
"Evening, Kommandant," Hogan said. He really wasn't sure why he was here. But, for some reason, he felt he had to be.
"Colonel Hogan." Klink's voice was neutral.
"Should get a few inches out of this," Hogan said conversationally.
Klink seemed to notice the snow for the first time. "Yes."
"When I was a kid, I loved it when it snowed like this," Hogan said after a while, just to end the silence. "My parents didn't."
"No." An odd voice. "Adults forget the wonder of it all too quickly."
Hogan was running out of things to say. "Uh, yeah."
What the hell was he doing here anyway? Whatever Klink's problem was, it wasn't any of Hogan's concern. But Klink's behavior had gotten to him in a way he'd never expected. Annoyed with himself and Klink, Hogan prepared to leave.
"Do you know any children, Colonel Hogan?" Klink asked suddenly. "I mean, really know them?"
"No, can't say that I do." He glanced at Klink's sharp profile. "Do you?"
This was the craziest conversation.
"Yes. Several. One was my younger sister."
"You have a sister?" Hogan knew little about Klink's family. Except for the odd bits of information he'd picked up, Hogan never bothered to learn about them. It wasn't important. Unless it fit in with a scheme of Hogan's, personal facts about Klink were never important.
"Yes. She is much younger than I. I was eighteen when she was born."
Hogan grinned. "Must have been a shock."
"Yes. A very pleasant one. She was such a beautiful child. Bright blue eyes, long blonde curls." Klink's voice had a quality in it that Hogan had never heard before. "And she had a laugh that lifted your heart."
Hogan turned to watch Klink more closely.
"I wasn't home much, of course; I was already at the Academy. But whenever I did get home, she always would run out to greet me."
"And big brother doted on her."
A small smile. "Dote is an understatement. I adored her. She was everything I could never be --- beautiful, lively, a joy to everyone. You won't believe it, Hogan, but she adored me, too. I could do no wrong in her eyes."
Hogan hid his grin.
A wistful sigh from Klink. "As all children do, she grew up. Into a beautiful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, generous. All the young men were crazy about her. But no one was good enough for her. Until. . . "
"Until?" Hogan prompted, oddly reluctant to end Klink's reminiscing.
"Finally, someone was good enough for her. He comes from an excellent family; he's strong, handsome and gentle. He's a little older than she is. But he loves her. And she loves him."
"An officer?"
Klink shook his head. "By default only. He is a doctor. The kind all doctors should be. He really cares for his patients. It doesn't matter who you are, what you do, if you're sick or hurt, he will care for you. He really is worthy of Therese."
"Lovely name."
Klink nodded. "They married, and, in time, had a son. A little boy named Wilhelm."
Hogan was amused. "After the uncle?"
"Ridiculous, is it not, Colonel Hogan?"
"Oh, I don't --- " Hogan began.
And was ignored. "Like his mother all over again. The same big blue eyes, the same blond curls. And a smile to melt your heart. Always running out to greet me whenever I could visit. All the innocence and joy of a child in one small boy. Everything was a cause for wonder --- a flower, a snowflake. Everything and anything."
"Bet you can't wait to see him again," Hogan said brightly.
Klink's face lost all expression. "I will never see him again, Colonel Hogan."
His voice had lost all feeling. "He was killed in an air raid earlier this week."
Stunned, Hogan stared at him.
"I received the letter today." Klink rubbed his eyes with a hand. "They call them strategic targets, Colonel Hogan. It doesn't matter if it's London or Tokyo or Berlin. Just points on a map," Klink continued in the same dead voice. "Someone far away decides it should no longer exist.
"I wonder how long wars would last if people really knew what they were destroying. Or do they even care? After all, what is so important about a five-year-old little boy compared to the ambitions and slogans of grown men?" Pain broke the deadness in his voice. "The only thing he ever did was bring joy to the people who loved him."
"Colonel," Hogan said in the darkness, "I don't know what to say."
A deep sigh. "There is nothing to say, Colonel Hogan. An accident of war.You know, you Americans are really very lucky. This, at least, does not touch you."
"I'm very sorry, Colonel Klink."
Something in his voice made Klink look at him. "Colonel, for the first time, I believe you mean it."
"Colonel, for the first time, I do."
The shiny eyes looked away. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan."
A long, oddly companionable silence. Then . . .
Klink roused himself. "Colonel Hogan, it is nearly time for lights out," Klink reminded him in that strangely neutral voice.
"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."
"Good night."
Newkirk grinned as Hogan entered the barracks. "Well, Colonel, what's with old Klink?"
"Another girl jilt him?" Le Beau asked.
"Or maybe," Carter began flippantly.
"Knock it off!" Hogan ordered roughly and walked into his room.
Startled silence followed him.
Hogan sipped the remains of his cold coffee as his men filed in quietly and closed the door.
"Colonel," Kinch began, "we didn't mean anything by it."
"Yes, you did," Hogan retorted angrily. "And so did I. Klink's right. All we see is the uniform. Something to hate or poke fun at. Nothing real. Just an illusion."
"Colonel, what's wrong?" Kinch asked quietly.
"I found out what's wrong with Klink." Hogan stared into his coffee mug."His five-year-old nephew was killed in an air raid earlier this week; he found out this morning."
"Klink? A nephew?" from Newkirk.
"Gosh," from Carter, "that's too bad."
"Tough luck," from Kinch. "But, Colonel, that's what happens in a war."
"That's what Klink said," Hogan said gloomily. "An accident of war. Where no one sees who gets hurt." He looked at his men. "But people do, don't they? Even five-year-old little boys."
"We don't make the rules, Colonel," Baker said.
"No, we don't."
"Colonel, something else is bothering you, isn't it?" Kinch observed.
"Yeah, there is," Hogan admitted. "For the first time, I saw Klink as a person. I mean, really saw him as a person. Someone who feels and can be hurt. We even had what might be called a real conversation. Up to now, he's been nothing more than a caricature in a uniform."
"Klink is a caricature," Le Beau said positively.
Hogan shook his head. "Not today, he wasn't. He seemed different somehow. I don't know. It's as though what we see every day isn't really him."
"There could be another explanation, Colonel," Kinch said quietly.
Hogan looked at him.
"Like you said, for the first time, you saw Klink as a person. Maybe, that's what's spooking you," Kinch said. "Maybe you, we, don't want to. It might make things harder for us. I mean, we use him all the time."
Hogan nodded. "Yes, I do, don't I?" he said softly. A long pause. Then, "Like the man said, an accident of war."
"If it'll help, Colonel," Newkirk said, not quite understanding Hogan's concern, "think of all the kids they murdered. You don't see him caring about them, do you?"
Hogan shook his head. "Guess not." Then he roused himself. "Time for lights out in a minute," he said. "You'd better hurry up."
Good nights sounded from his men.
"Good night," he echoed as the door closed behind them.
Hogan put his cup down and pulled off his jacket. Undoing his tie, he walked to the window and opened the shutter for a moment. Lights were going down around the compound, except in Klink's quarters. He closed the shutters tightly, for a moment wondering if Klink would get any sleep tonight.Then he shrugged. Getting sentimental in his old age, that's what it was. Nothing more. He didn't want to think what else it might be. He didn't want to think about how things seemed to be getting better between Klink and him. Better since that day after Hogan had again bested Klink, though, of course, Klink didn't know it. The day after that Gestapo captain had left, after clearing Hogan of a sabotage job, which of course, he had done. Klink had laughingly told Hogan about it. Hogan, naturally, was outraged, managing to get an undeserved apology out of Klink. Then came Klink's startling, spontaneous comment that he "liked" Hogan. Oddly, Hogan had been pleased by the comment. Not that it mattered what an idiot like Klink thought of him. But it had pleased him.
Weird. Why should he care what Klink thought? He never had, never in all this time. But then again, why shouldn't Klink like him? After all, he was a likable fellow. Unlike Klink. Poor Klink. He really was a fool. A naive fool. Not realizing what a perfect tool he was. So easy to manipulate, to use. So easy to get rid of. He almost felt sorry for Klink. He almost felt . . .
A cold wave washed over him.
No. He felt nothing for Klink. Nothing but contempt. Nothing . . .
- Two -
Just a few weeks until Christmas, Hogan thought. Another Christmas here. A sigh. He had hoped the war would be over by now. But it wasn't. The Germans were still far from dead, still fighting with all the skill and ingenuity they possessed. It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. Still more work for his group of men. And, unfortunately, more prisoners as well.
"Company coming," Newkirk said softly beside him.
A car turned inside the gate and approached Klink's office.
"Set up the coffee pot," Hogan said. "I'll check our visitor out."
Klink had come out of his office and seemed genuinely pleased to see his visitor. A captain. Wehrmacht. Klink and his visitor embraced. There seemed to be real warmth in the greeting.
"Kommandant!" Hogan called as he approached. "Do you have a minute?"
"Colonel Hogan." Klink wasn't too pleased to see him. "Can it wait until later?"
"Sure, no rush," Hogan said amicably. "I'm not going any place."
Intense brown eyes peered at him out of a pleasantly handsome face. A faint twinkle of humor was in their depths.
"Very funny, Hogan," Klink said. "Dieter, I'd like you to meet Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer. Colonel Hogan, my brother-in-law, Captain Dieter MÆller."
Hogan raised a brow. This pleasant, intelligent-appearing man related to Klink? "How do you do, Captain?"
The handshake was firm, friendly.
"I am well, Colonel. I hope Wilhelm is treating you the same." The interest in MÆller's eyes seemed real.
"Can't complain. He won't let me," Hogan added to Klink's annoyance.
MÆller smiled faintly in response.
"Dieter is a doctor, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps he will visit the infirmary later," Klink said.
"Yes. I would like that very much."
"Very generous, Captain," Hogan said.
"Not at all. It is simply my duty as a physician."
"Now, if you have nothing else, Colonel . . . " Klink started.
"No, nothing. Nice meeting you, Captain."
"And you, Colonel."
Hogan went back to his room. His men, save for Kinch, were already listening in.
"Friendly sounding chap," Newkirk observed.
"He's Klink's brother-in-law. A doctor."
Kinch came in. "Colonel, the underground said to contact a new man in the area. Name's Dieter MÆller."
Hogan looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Yup. Captain Dieter MÆller. What's wrong, Colonel?"
"He's already here; he's Klink's brother-in-law."
Klink handed MÆller a glass of brandy and sat down behind his desk. "How is Therese?" His voice sounded a little different to the eavesdropping men.
"As well as can be expected," MÆller said. "Christmas . . . Christmas will be difficult." He looked at Klink. "Can you get away?"
Klink shook his head. "Nein. With the war the way it is --- "
"The war!" MÆller interrupted vehemently. "The war! It killed my son! Murders thousands of people every day. Destroys countries. And for what?!" There were tears in his voice.
Klink chose his words carefully. "It will end."
"When? How many more children must die? How many more parents must cry for their babies?"
"Dieter, don't!" Klink's voice was soothing. "Stop tormenting yourself. It will end."
"Not if left to those," an ugly expression, "in Berlin." The hate in MÆller's voice surprised the listening prisoners. "Well, I am not leaving it to them any longer!"
"What do you mean?" Klink asked slowly, deliberately.
"I mean I am going to do everything I can to end this madness, Wilhelm.Help anyway I can."
"Help who?"
"The resistance, Wilhelm. And I want you to join me."
His statement took Klink and the listeners by surprise. "Dieter, you are talking of treason."
"I am talking of ending this insanity brought on by a madman."
"That `madman' is your FÆhrer, Dieter," Klink said carefully.
"My what?" MÆller stared at Klink. "Wilhelm, what is the matter with you? You sound like one of those damned Nazis."
"Dieter, please." Klink sounded tired.
"Please, what? You once hated everything the Nazis stood for." Brows were raised among the eavesdroppers. "What has happened to you?"
Klink stayed silent.
"Join me," MÆller pressed. "Come with me to see these people. As the Kommandant of a prison camp, you could be of great help."
"He already is," Hogan said with a grin.
"Dieter, this is mad. The Gestapo is suspicious of everyone, everything. If you get caught . . . Think, Dieter! You can destroy everything --- your career, your home, your family."
"You are afraid!" MÆller accused.
"Of course, I'm afraid!" Klink stood, angry. "You should be, too! These are dangerous times, Dieter. Leave politics and resistance to those who know best."
MÆller stared at him. "Mein Gott, they're true. All true. I didn't want to believe it."
"Believe what?"
MÆller stood and faced him. "All those stories. Klink, the ineffectual, spineless fool --- "
"Ouch," from Carter.
"Whose only claim to any talent is that no one has ever escaped from this camp," MÆller continued damningly. "But, in all other respects, a hopeless incompetent."
Klink turned away from him, his face a frozen mask.
"If Therese ever knew . . . " MÆller's voice was quiet. "She adores you. You were always her big brother. You were brave, strong. You knew everything, could do everything." He shook his head. "If she could see you now, as you really are."
Silence from the man at the window.
"It would kill her," MÆller finished softly.
"Dieter, please." A very tired voice.
"I won't say anything to Therese." MÆller slipped on his coat. "I can't destroy her image of you. But . . . Perhaps it is best that you don't see her."
Klink turned to him. "Dieter, don't do anything foolish. Please."
"Why?" MÆller challenged. "Will you turn me in to your precious Nazis?"
Klink went white. "I think," he sought to control his voice, "we should stop. Before too much is said."
"It has already been said, Wilhelm." MÆller said contemptuously. "God willing, I will be back in a day or two to see your prisoners. But I have no desire to see you again, Wilhelm. Goodbye."
The listeners heard the door slam.
"Gee," Carter said, "I almost feel sorry for Klink."
"Yeah," Kinch said. "His brother-in-law gave it to him. But good!"
"Well, he deserves it," Le Beau sneered.
"So," Baker asked, "how do we contact him?"
"Tonight. At his hotel," Hogan said.
Newkirk grinned. "Is he going to be in for a surprise!"
* * * * *
There was a knock on the door as Dieter MÆller started to take off his jacket. Frowning slightly, he went to the door."Who is it?" he called.
"Herr Doktor," said a voice, "there is an emergency. We must speak to you."
Surprised, MÆller opened the door. He was shocked to find Colonel Hogan standing there in civilian clothes. Before he could say a word, Hogan pushed his way into the room along with one of his men and closed the door.
"Colonel Hogan!" MÆller finally found his voice. "What are you doing here? How did you get out of camp? Did you escape?"
"Not exactly," answered the American. "I understand it never snows in Munich."
MÆller stood frozen for a moment. Then his numb brain remembered the response. "Only when the sun is out."
Hogan grinned at him. "Stupid codes, aren't they?"
MÆller couldn't say a word, his mind still trying to grapple with Hogan's presence."Does anyone know you are here, or not in camp?" he finally managed to ask.
"You mean, Klink?" Hogan's voice was disparaging.
MÆller nodded.
"Don't be ridiculous."
MÆller shuddered as he grasped the full implication of Hogan's statement.
"You . . . You are in the habit of wandering in and out of camp."
Hogan nodded.
"And, no one, the guards, no one knows --- "
"We have a very nice little setup," Le Beau said.
Dieter MÆller sank into a chair. The stories he'd heard became even more horrible. What had happened to the man he'd thought he had known? What?!
"We understand that you want to help," Hogan was saying.
"What? Oh, yes." MÆller visibly shook himself. "Yes, I do."
"You know it could be dangerous?"
A nod. "It is dangerous everywhere."
Hogan smiled. "Okay. Tomorrow night at 2300 met us at the north end of town, just past the signpost. Wear something unobtrusive."
MÆller nodded.
"Good." Another smile. "Until tomorrow then."
"Until tomorrow."
And Hogan and his man were gone, leaving behind a very shaken Dieter MÆller.
* * * * *
The Stage changed the frequency on the radio set atop the bookcase before sitting down in the old, comfortable chair beside it. The night's operations had gone better than he'd anticipated. It had required a great deal of planning to coordinate the fifteeen separate strikes against military targets in Germany and France. Two of the raids had been carried out in conjunction with British and American units. Those hits were the ones that pleased him the most. Thus far, the Allies had been reluctant to coordinate their activities with local resistance units. The success of the night's missions should lead to more cooperative ventures between the Allied armies and the resistance. He hoped.
The success of the operations would also add to his already mythic reputation. He had made certain that there was no doubt that the Stage had been responsible for the strikes; he had allowed himself to be impersonated in half a dozen locations to further confuse his enemies. He permitted himself a smile. After all these years, he still enjoyed confounding the leaders of the so-called master race. His smile faded as he listened to one of the underground units' messages.
So, Papa Bear had decided to go ahead with the meeting, despite his warning. It didn't surprise the Stage. Very little that Papa Bear did surprised him any more.
He glanced down at the book in his hand. Tacitus had lost is appeal. He returned the book to the shelf, and pulled out another one. A glance at the title. No, not Divina Commedia; the horrors he saw were even worse than the hell imagined by Dante. He returned the book to the shelf, pulled out one of Moliere's comedies, and changed the frequency on the powerful radio.
The Stage listened more closely now. This was the enemy's frequency. Code, of course, but one he knew quite well.
He stiffened in surprise. So, the SS knew about the meeting of the two groups.Knew and would attend. Damn!
The book lay forgotten on his lap. It sounded as if, this time, the SS had planned well. Papa Bear and his men had managed to evade capture in the past; this time, he wasn't certain they could. A very valuable underground unit could well be taken. Along with innocents who had nothing to do with it.
The Stage started to reach for the radio, to order Papa Bear to cancel the meeting. And changed his mind. It had been a long time since the Stage had been seen around Hammelburg. Perhaps a personal visit was long overdue. A thin smile. As was the lesson about to be taught to a certain, rather impudent, American colonel.
[Continued in "Theater of War: Act One".]
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