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Der Meißel der Seele	By : Wertiyurae Category: G through L > Hogan's Heroes Views: 1600 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“He’s not coming.”

Schultz wasn’t sure which of the guards standing with him had mumbled this but he couldn’t argue with the statement. The Big Shot always seemed to enjoy Roll Call (at least, he enjoyed it when all the prisoners were accounted for) and he was hardly ever late. One thing that could be said for the man was that he was nothing if not punctual. And, if he wasn’t here by now –

Surreptitiously, he snuck another glance at his watch. Then he looked again. Fifty minutes late now. Very odd.

“Maybe you should see what’s keeping him,” Corporal Ruf suggested in a low voice. “The prisoners are getting restless.”

Another statement that Schultz couldn’t argue with. While the morning was fairly mild, it was hardly balmy. Some of the prisoners were starting to move around and speak amongst themselves in gradually rising, dissatisfied, voices. Others had actually taken seats on the steps of the Barracks. From where he stood, Schultz could see that a few of them were making snow balls.

No way that could end well. It would probably be best to get Roll over with before the Prisoners did something everyone would regret. And, seeing as the Kommandant was almost an hour late already, maybe it was time to let the prisoners disband. Everyone had been accounted for and, if Klink really wanted to address them this morning, it wouldn’t be too difficult to round the prisoners up again.

Besides, the longer this went on, the longer he went without breakfast.

“Dismiss them,” he ordered the Corporal. “I’ll go and inform Colonel Klink.”

Ruf saluted and Schultz returned it before making his way to the Office Building. Once inside, he smiled at Klink’s lovely secretary. “Good morning, Fraulein.”

She smiled back, revealing many of her perfect teeth. That was something he could give Klink: he had good taste in secretaries. “Good morning, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

‘Anything you’d like,’ Schultz thought before reminding himself that he was almost old enough to be the young lady’s father and that, as fun as some harmless flirtation could be, he was here for an important reason: breakfast. “Have you seen the Big Shot? He’s missed Roll Call.”

Hilda stood, frowning. “No, I haven’t. He could be in his office.” She walked passed her desk towards the office. “Just let me check.” Knocking, she opened the door slightly. “Sir?”

Swinging it open the rest of the way, she turned back to Schultz with a slightly worried expression. “He’s not here. Maybe he’s sick . . . he did tell me the other day that he wasn’t feeling well.”

A fine explanation, as far as it went. However, in Schultz’s experience, if the Colonel wasn’t feeling well, he usually let everyone know about it. Repeatedly. Then again, recalling the way he had been acting the night before, maybe he was sick. It would certainly explain why he’d been more irritable than usual. Klink was always a bit high strung but last night had been strange, even for him.

“Are you going to look for him in his quarters?”

He regarded Hilda with a little confusion. Why was she so concerned? Did she know something he didn’t? “I suppose I’ll have to.” He strode over to Klink’s quarters and didn’t bother knocking. There really wasn’t any point to it: if the Kommandant was asleep in his bedroom, then he wouldn’t be able to hear it and, if he was in the living room, well, there wouldn’t be anything that Schultz had to worry about interrupting.

At least, he hoped that would be true. Especially since, for whatever reason, Fraulein Hilda was trailing him. Again, he wondered why she was so concerned but he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business and he was very good at minding his own business. Probably better off not knowing, he decided.

Schultz stopped short after opening the door. Was there someone on the couch? Pressing the light switch on the wall confirmed this and his brow furrowed as he realized the figure sleeping there was Colonel Klink himself. As for why he would be sleeping there rather than in his bed, Schultz didn’t hazard a guess. He didn’t need to know; he didn’t want to know.

He was a bit annoyed though. It just wasn’t fair: bad enough he had to deal with Colonel Hogan’s monkey shines and unpredictably bizarre behavior; it hardly seemed right that the Big Shot was getting in on it too!

Brusquely, he walked over to the couch. “Kommandant?”

Klink groaned but showed no sign of wakefulness.

“Kommandant!”

When this proved to be no more successful than the first attempt, Schultz bit back a sigh and put his hand on Klink’s shoulder, intending to shake him. He was unprepared for what happened next.

Klink awoke with a startled gasp, pulling away from Schultz and shooting up into a sit. Immediately, his face paled, turning the color of chalk, and he fell back against the couch with a pained cry. Then, scrambling, he pushed himself back into the cushions and stared at Schultz with wide, terror filled eyes. For several long seconds, the only sound in the room was his harsh, panicked breathing.

While Schultz was rooted to the spot with shock and surprise, Hilda recovered more quickly. Within moments, she had come forward, blocking Schultz’s view of the Kommandant, and began speaking in soft tones. When asking him what was wrong didn’t receive an answer, she assured him that everything was all right: that it was just she and Sergeant Schultz.

Finally, Klink spoke, sounding overwhelmed and strained. “I, I think I’m all right now. Please, just, just give me some room.”

Hilda stepped back, affording the stunned Sergeant Schultz a view of Klink’s face. He didn’t look any better than he’d sounded. Pale and shaking, he barely looked like himself at all. “Wha- what’s going on, Sergeant?”

For a moment, Schultz could only stare with his mouth agape. What on earth had that been about? In all the time he’d known the Big Shot, he had never seen him like that: terrified beyond reason. Even though he and Klink were hardly anything like friends, the sight disturbed him. It was also disturbing to be the one inspiring such terror - he’d never scared anyone so badly in his whole life.

And he hoped never to do so again.

“Sergeant, what are you here for?”

Shaking his head, Schultz forced himself to return to the matter at hand. At least Klink sounded more irritated than tired now and he’d stopped shaking. Even if he wasn’t looking him in the eye. “You missed Roll Call, sir.”

Klink grimaced. “Oh. Well, are they all here?”

Schultz nodded quickly, glad to have some good news to give him. “Yes, sir. All accounted for. Everyone in their place. No extra. No-”

“I get it, Schultz,” Klink interrupted, his annoyance plain. He rubbed his head and seemed to be thinking over something. “All right. Until further notice, conduct the Rolls yourself and report to me when you finish . . . I’m sure you can handle that much.”

To be honest, Schultz wasn’t sure what to make of either the order or the tone. Granted, he was used to being insulted by the Big Shot but it seemed almost as though the man was going out of his way to be insulting. But why would he bother to do such a thing? Besides that, he’d thought that Klink liked Roll Call. “But, sir -”

The Kommandant held up a weary hand. “Don’t argue with me, please. I know it’s not exactly regulation but I . . . ” He trailed off and shook his head, his weariness replaced once more with irritation. “Just do it, Dummkopf!”

Schultz snapped to attention. “Yessir.” Very moody this morning, wasn’t he? Well, he was the Kommandant, and if he wanted to break the rules, that was his business. And, if he wanted to be moody, Schultz supposed that that was his business too.

A curt salute. “Dismissed.” Then, before Schultz had a chance to do much more than return the salute, he spoke again. “Oh, and get me something from the mess, will you? But nothing too greasy.”

Not for the first time, Schultz asked himself why Klink didn’t just hire someone to take care of these things. As a guard, this wasn’t really his job. Still, getting the Kommandant’s breakfast did mean that he’d be closer to getting his own. Maybe, he could even get a little something for himself first. “Yessir!”

His answer must have betrayed his enthusiasm because Klink continued in a snide tone: “And I’d like to get it before you stuff your face.”

Spoil sport. “Yessir.” Even as he grumbled about the injustice under his breath as soon as he was out in the compound, he couldn’t quite push out of his mind the memory of Klink’s fit.

Or ignore the fact that, the whole time they’d been speaking, the fear had never quite left Klink’s eyes.
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Der Meißel der Seele