Whistling a jaunty tune, Hogan strolled through the prison compound,
smiling at the motley collection of prisoners who were amusing themselves
in various ways. One particular cluster of prisoners, however, caught his
eye, and he couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. Crowded around a wall of one
of the barracks, Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF, was scrawling something on
the wooden structure.
"No, no! It should be 'drop dead', not 'die'," a familiar voice protested. Colonel Hogan grinned. That would be Carter.
"Andrew, get your own bloody wall to write on!" a distinct British lilt floated to his ears.
"Both of you act like first graders," another voice noted. Ah, the mediator Kinch. Shaking his head fondly at his first-team's antics, Hogan ambled behind them, footsteps muffled.
"Hey, fellas, whatcha up to?" he questioned, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. Both of the victims jumped in surprise, and whirled around to face the smirking Colonel, who donned an innocent, cherubic expression before laughing.
Newkirk looked miffed. "Blimey, guv'nor! You nearly gave me a ruddy 'eart attack!"
"Sorry, couldn't resist," Hogan amended, though mischief still sparkled in his eyes.
Whilst this cheery exchange was taking place, far off in another dimension, a certain teenage girl was sitting, enjoying her English class immensely.
************************************
"What is a proper noun?" Ms. Laken drilled. Kits yawned widely, doodling on a scrap piece of paper left over from her friend's note. "Miss Lafner, since you seem so interested today, would you like to share the answer with the rest of the class?" Kits, still concentrating on the scene animating itself on her paper, ignored the teacher. "Miss Lafner?" No response. "MISS LAFNER!" her teacher finally screamed, slapping her hands on Kits's desk.
"Huh? What?" Her head shot up, and she peered at her instructor with a small grin. "What was the question again?"
"What is a proper noun?"
Kits sighed. Too easy, she thought to herself. Because of some especially low homework grades, among one failed test, she had been knocked down to regulars, and was now effortlessly acing the class, though she felt out of place among her all honors, GT friends. Ruefully, she shook her head and looked up again, answering the impatient woman standing by her desk with a huge smile.
"A noun that immigrated from Britain." A few titters ran through the classroom, but the murmurs and giggling was silenced by Ms. Laken's hawk- like glare.
"Maybe you would like to repeat that comment to the principal? I'll go get the write-up right now."
Kits groaned inwardly. Great. Your smart mouth gotcha in trouble again. She sighed and reluctantly followed the small, shrewish woman to the desk. "Yes, ma'am," she said respectfully while taking the dreaded piece of paper from her hand. Once the teacher turned around, however, she made a face, bit her thumb at the teacher, and trudged out the door.
"Oi…" she muttered, shuffling her feet down the familiar, thoroughly hated, halls. Suddenly, a vortex opened itself up, reminding her of an incident a few months before when she had fallen in the middle of Stalag 13; more specifically, the tunnels under Barracks 2. The trip had been pleasant, and she had always wished to meet 'the boys' from Hogan's Heroes, but once back from the short vacation she found she had missed important information for an upcoming test. "I don't think I'll miss a trip to the principal's office." Mr. Allen was well-known among the students; everyone thought he was a jerk, and many were inclined to say even the teachers avoided him whenever possible. "Well, away we go!" she said, falling into the pit.
********************
The sky was as bright as a field of bluebonnets, and equally refreshing. Even the menacing guard towers arching into the air could not damper the men's spririts. LeBeau took a deep breath and sighed, releasing it and closing his eyes with a contented smile adorning his face. Nothing could go wrong today.
BAM! A sudden noise behind him caused him to turn around and face the source…who happened to be rubbing her head and using a working knowledge of explecitives from assorted languages under her breath. LeBeau groaned and rolled his eyes Heavenward.
"Why me?" he mouthed silently before managing to glare at the girl that just miraculously fell through the sky and into the nearly empty barracks. "Not you again!" he cried.
"Gee, nice to know I'm loved around here. I really need to write these experiences down in a book called, 'Boosts for Your Self-Esteem'," joked Kits, glancing around. "Say, not much changes 'round here, huh?"
A creak startled them, and together they turned to watch the door swing open, welcoming a very tall, very happy Colonel. Well, he was happy, until he spotted Kits.
"Hey, Louis, you gotta-" he stopped. "When did you arrive?" he asked of the thirteen-year old that had made her prescence known by coughing loudly and waving.
"What is with that reaction?" she questioned.
"What reaction?"
"You know, the whole one of fear and dread?" Both men looked at her for a moment. "Wait a second…"
"No, no! It should be 'drop dead', not 'die'," a familiar voice protested. Colonel Hogan grinned. That would be Carter.
"Andrew, get your own bloody wall to write on!" a distinct British lilt floated to his ears.
"Both of you act like first graders," another voice noted. Ah, the mediator Kinch. Shaking his head fondly at his first-team's antics, Hogan ambled behind them, footsteps muffled.
"Hey, fellas, whatcha up to?" he questioned, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. Both of the victims jumped in surprise, and whirled around to face the smirking Colonel, who donned an innocent, cherubic expression before laughing.
Newkirk looked miffed. "Blimey, guv'nor! You nearly gave me a ruddy 'eart attack!"
"Sorry, couldn't resist," Hogan amended, though mischief still sparkled in his eyes.
Whilst this cheery exchange was taking place, far off in another dimension, a certain teenage girl was sitting, enjoying her English class immensely.
************************************
"What is a proper noun?" Ms. Laken drilled. Kits yawned widely, doodling on a scrap piece of paper left over from her friend's note. "Miss Lafner, since you seem so interested today, would you like to share the answer with the rest of the class?" Kits, still concentrating on the scene animating itself on her paper, ignored the teacher. "Miss Lafner?" No response. "MISS LAFNER!" her teacher finally screamed, slapping her hands on Kits's desk.
"Huh? What?" Her head shot up, and she peered at her instructor with a small grin. "What was the question again?"
"What is a proper noun?"
Kits sighed. Too easy, she thought to herself. Because of some especially low homework grades, among one failed test, she had been knocked down to regulars, and was now effortlessly acing the class, though she felt out of place among her all honors, GT friends. Ruefully, she shook her head and looked up again, answering the impatient woman standing by her desk with a huge smile.
"A noun that immigrated from Britain." A few titters ran through the classroom, but the murmurs and giggling was silenced by Ms. Laken's hawk- like glare.
"Maybe you would like to repeat that comment to the principal? I'll go get the write-up right now."
Kits groaned inwardly. Great. Your smart mouth gotcha in trouble again. She sighed and reluctantly followed the small, shrewish woman to the desk. "Yes, ma'am," she said respectfully while taking the dreaded piece of paper from her hand. Once the teacher turned around, however, she made a face, bit her thumb at the teacher, and trudged out the door.
"Oi…" she muttered, shuffling her feet down the familiar, thoroughly hated, halls. Suddenly, a vortex opened itself up, reminding her of an incident a few months before when she had fallen in the middle of Stalag 13; more specifically, the tunnels under Barracks 2. The trip had been pleasant, and she had always wished to meet 'the boys' from Hogan's Heroes, but once back from the short vacation she found she had missed important information for an upcoming test. "I don't think I'll miss a trip to the principal's office." Mr. Allen was well-known among the students; everyone thought he was a jerk, and many were inclined to say even the teachers avoided him whenever possible. "Well, away we go!" she said, falling into the pit.
********************
The sky was as bright as a field of bluebonnets, and equally refreshing. Even the menacing guard towers arching into the air could not damper the men's spririts. LeBeau took a deep breath and sighed, releasing it and closing his eyes with a contented smile adorning his face. Nothing could go wrong today.
BAM! A sudden noise behind him caused him to turn around and face the source…who happened to be rubbing her head and using a working knowledge of explecitives from assorted languages under her breath. LeBeau groaned and rolled his eyes Heavenward.
"Why me?" he mouthed silently before managing to glare at the girl that just miraculously fell through the sky and into the nearly empty barracks. "Not you again!" he cried.
"Gee, nice to know I'm loved around here. I really need to write these experiences down in a book called, 'Boosts for Your Self-Esteem'," joked Kits, glancing around. "Say, not much changes 'round here, huh?"
A creak startled them, and together they turned to watch the door swing open, welcoming a very tall, very happy Colonel. Well, he was happy, until he spotted Kits.
"Hey, Louis, you gotta-" he stopped. "When did you arrive?" he asked of the thirteen-year old that had made her prescence known by coughing loudly and waving.
"What is with that reaction?" she questioned.
"What reaction?"
"You know, the whole one of fear and dread?" Both men looked at her for a moment. "Wait a second…"