Chapter 3-Tragedy

It had been exactly one year ago that the son of retired Brigadier General Robert Hogan had been incarcerated in Luft Stalag 13. According to his letters which were heavily censored by the Germans, his parents, with a bit of trouble, were able to piece together that their son was doing well and in fairly good health. He also indicated he was the Senior POW officer in Luft Stalag 13 as he was the highest ranking Allied officer in the entire camp. The General smirked as his son seemed to be following in his footsteps in every way. But it was a smirk tempered with great fear and terror.

Why was his son, probably the highest-ranking Allied officer in Germany, incarcerated in a camp meant for non-commissioned officers only? Why was he not in an Oflag which was a camp for men befitting his son's rank? To him the answer was one of two terrifying possibilities: one, the Nazis were doing their best to humiliate and degrade his son, or two, his son, after endless torture and numerous interrogations, had been broken by the Nazis. He massaged his forehead. When the war ended, what kind of man would be returning home? How different would his eldest be from the young man who joined the military? Or would he be no more than an empty shell of his former self, devoid of all life? Worse yet, would he even return home? Added to that was that his son was Jewish, and could be taken out of camp at any time by the Gestapo or the SS, or even transferred to a labor camp without advance notice. The General let out a deep breath. He had kept this information from his wife and the rest of the family because they had already been through so much that he didn't believe they could handle any more worry, terror and fear. They deserved some peace for awhile. But it was the stress of keeping this information to himself for months that on this day caused pain in his chest.

Letting out a deep breath, he massaged his chest as the pain became more intense. Alone in the living room, the General staggered but maintained his balance as the pain in his chest radiated down his left arm; he felt worse than he'd ever felt before whenever the discomfort occurred. Knowing his wife was outside, he suddenly grabbed his arm and held it against his side, and gritted his teeth as he now had difficulty breathing. If he could just get his wife's attention without frightening her, he believed things would be okay. He knew he was having a heart attack, and quickly realized this was not a mild one, but a serious one. Beads of sweat started breaking out on his forehead and the nausea began. Then, his world suddenly turned black as he sagged against the table and collapsed onto the floor clutching his chest, in the process overturning the table and sending the lamp crashing onto the floor where it shattered.

Colonel Robert Hogan was relaxing on his back on his upper bunk in Stalag 13 reading a paperback book he had borrowed from Newkirk. He and his men didn't often have times like this when there were no missions from London, no work details, and the pouring rain made it impossible for anybody to venture outside. So, all the prisoners were confined to their respective barracks, bored, looking for things with which to occupy themselves. So, at least in barracks two, some of the men were writing letters to their families, some were napping, while Newkirk managed to lure Carter, Kinch and LeBeau into a game of gin rummy. Hogan, not having masochistic tendencies, politely refused to join in the card game and instead retired to his private quarters to resume reading the paperback the Englander had loaned him a few days ago. That was when it happened.

Hogan had just flipped the page over when a sudden chill permeated his body; almost as if someone had walked across his grave. The feeling was so intense that the Colonel put down his book and looked around his room as if he expected to see something or someone. When he saw and heard nothing, he quickly jumped down from the upper bunk, hurried to the door and pulling it open, looked out into the common room, his eyes taking in everything. None of the men noticed him and everything seemed fine so Hogan quietly closed the door and with narrowed eyes, wrapped his arms around himself as he tried to figure out what was so terribly wrong that caused the sudden chill he felt.

Sandra Hogan paced back and forth in the waiting area of the local hospital while fingering the Star-of-David pendant that hung around her neck; tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't shake the image that had greeted her when she had run back inside after hearing the sound of something breaking and found her husband collapsed in a semi-fetal position on the floor clutching his chest and having difficulty breathing and barely alive. After having called for an ambulance, she accompanied her husband to the hospital where he was rushed into an examination room. She knew her husband was in very bad shape the moment she had found him on the living room floor and that things didn't seem to improve while en-route to the hospital. She had held her husband's hand throughout the ride to the hospital all the while begging him to hang on and not to leave her and the children because they all loved him so much, they needed him in their lives, and it wasn't time for him to go. All the General could manage through his pain in the ambulance was to look at his wife with all the love in the world showing through his eyes, and a weak smile on his face. "I love you…always…" he struggled to get the words out weakly.

He has to live! He has to! You can't take him away now! She inwardly said looking up at the heavens. She had been reciting the recovery prayer repeatedly since she had found her husband on the floor. She stopped pacing when she heard the sound of shoes approaching on the tiled floor and turned to see a young, blond-haired man in a white coat wearing glasses approaching her, a grim look on his face.

"Mrs. Hogan?" he asked now standing directly in front of the woman. "I'm Doctor Pearsall. I examined your husband when he was brought in."

"Please," she pleaded. "Tell me my husband will be all right." She brushed at the tears on her face.

The doctor sighed wearily with a grim look on his face. "Mrs. Hogan, I'm afraid your husband is in a coma…."

Sandra didn't hear the rest of his words as she collapsed onto one of the chairs near a plate glass window. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. She barely recalled a gentle hand on her shoulder or someone speaking to her. After awhile, she looked up and saw Doctor Pearsall watching her with concerned eyes.

"What?" she asked in a voice she didn't recognize as coming from her own lips.

"You must prepare yourself for any eventuality at this point. His condition is extremely grave. I am so, so sorry."

Sandra let out a deep breath, swallowed hard, and slowly nodded. "Can…can I sit with him?"

The doctor smiled grimly. "Of course you can. Come, I'll escort you to his room."

From that moment on, Sandra refused to leave her husband's side. She gripped his hand tightly in hers and repeated her recovery prayer knowing it worked before, believing it would work again. She couldn't bear living without her beloved Robert. But a day later, her world splintered and came crashing down around her. It happened when she awoke after falling asleep with her head resting on her folded arms on the edge of the bed. Once she had erased the remnants of sleep from her eyes, she reached out and gripped one of her husband's hands only to discover it was cool to the touch; also, he didn't appear to be breathing. Panicking, Sandra rushed from her husband's room screaming for the doctor. Seconds later, Dr. Pearsall ran into her husband's room with a nurse while ordering another nurse to keep Mrs. Hogan outside.

After a few minutes, a grim-faced doctor emerged from the room and faced the woman who was leaning against the nurse who was gently restraining her. The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hogan, but your husband passed away without regaining consciousness. I am so sorry for your loss."

There was a sudden wail of grief from Sandra as she collapsed into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and was unaware of being led to a nearby chair and sitting down, or of a hand gently on her trembling shoulder. "If it's any comfort, Mrs. Hogan, he suffered no pain in the end," said a faint voice.

"Is it possible I could see him?" she whispered looking up with red, wet eyes.

"Of course." They both got to their feet and Sandra allowed herself to be led back into her husband's room where Robert's body still lay in the bed but now covered with a sheet which had been pulled up over his head. The nurse still there turned and her eyes shifted from the woman to the doctor.

"It's all right, nurse. This is General Hogan's wife." The nurse simply nodded and immediately left the room. Pearsall gazed at Sandra. "Take as much time as you need. I'll be right outside if you need me." He quietly walked out of the room leaving the new widow alone.

Sandra took a deep breath and approached the bed where she hesitantly pulled back the sheet covering her husband's body enabling her to look into his face while trying to compose herself. She reached out and clutched one of his hands and pressed it against her chest tightly. "I loved you the first time I saw you, my love; and not even death can change that love. I look forward to the day we can be together again. Until then, my love, I will have to be content knowing you are no longer suffering from poor health. So, until we see each other again…" she leaned forward and pressed her lips against her husband's. She then stood erect and let out a deep breath.

Sandra Hogan finally had a few minutes to herself to sit down and breath. She had made the phone calls to all of her children except one and to Rob's friends and family members who were still alive as well as her own and she was worn out completely. Everyone would be coming as soon-as-possible. She also knew that even though Rob was retired from the military, they would still take care of the funeral and burial in Arlington National Cemetery. Letting out a deep breath as she pulled out a sheet of writing paper and an envelope from her late husband's desk, she knew the most difficult task lay ahead of her, especially since her husband had only a week earlier written and mailed a letter to their son at Stalag 13. Her eyes glistened as she picked up her pen and began to write:

'My Dearest Son,

I'm so sorry to have to tell you this by mail, but your father passed away a day after suffering what the doctors said was a massive heart attack…'

The End