'The Mary Sue Experiments' was the brainchild of author GSJessica and was worked on by 10 authors from March to September 2008. I'm resurrecting the idea just for fun as I missed participating in the original story. The purpose of the original Mary Sue Experiments was to see if an author could do a self-insert into a story scenario without becoming a 'Mary Sue', while writing themselves as accurately as possible into the Hogan's Heroes world which was to be treated as historically real and not just a TV show.
Naturally, I don't own Hogan's Heroes, Stargate: SG1, or anything else mentioned which might be copyrighted. I think I still own myself though :-)
I would like to dedicate this story to a dear friend from the Royal Marines Association whom we lost to cancer last week. He was the drill instructor for our band for many years and he will be missed by us all.
I have to say I love antiques, auction sales, and snooping through other peoples' stuff. I also have an affection for World War II, so when the box of old military stuff came up on the auction block, there was no hesitancy on my part to put in a bid.
Now, my primary reason for bidding on the box was the Royal Marine pith helmet sitting on top. See, my band was granted special permission to wear the official helmets despite not being regular military. Unfortunately, the helmets are a rare and precious commodity. We've been lucky enough to pick up the occasional one off e-bay but they frequently cost an arm and a leg and when you are a non-profit group with a very limited budget…well, you get the idea. So I had to jump at the opportunity to try and get us one – cheap.
And it worked. Nobody else at the auction seemed to realize what a rare gem was sitting there. The band got a new helmet for $25 and I got the rest – a box of junk to most but I was looking forward to sorting out the various military odds and ends, many of which seemed to come from the WW2 era.
I had just finished putting my son to bed and eagerly dived into my box of treasures to see what was really inside. I pulled out item after item, a lot of which was completely unrelated: Royal Marine collar dogs, an embroidered crest from US 8th Air Force (very cool as I remembered Colonel Hogan wearing one just like it on the shoulder of his dress uniform), some uniform buttons, shoulder flashes, a couple of medals, etc. Hours passed as I dug through this pile of stuff until finally I came to a small bag near the bottom.
Curious (I am a Leo by the way and you know what they say about cats), I opened the drawstring and pulled out the contents. To my surprise, I was holding what could pass for a gold pocket watch. It had no hands however, just rings etched on its face. I turned it over, played with it a little trying to figure it out, and rubbed my hand over the rings.
"Mom? Whatcha doing?" came a voice from behind me.
"What are you doing out of bed?" I demanded, slightly startled by my son's sudden appearance.
"I don't want to go to bed yet," he replied, as usual. Unfortunately, he seemed to have inherited both my husband's and my night owl tendencies. "It's only 8:00. Can I play with your farm?" Farmville is his latest obsession.
At this point I am extremely confused. I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles I had already put my son to bed that night. I looked at the clock and sure enough, it was only five minutes to eight. Then I look back at the table with all its sorted piles from my treasure box…only to find the box sitting there full and waiting for me to begin. I must have been dreaming or something strange but I set to and get my son off to bed (again I add mentally).
That task done, I once more sit down to the box from the auction and sort through it, but there's no joy in the discoveries I find inside this time. I seem to know exactly what everything is. Then I come across the 'watch' again.
I take it out of its pouch and start examining it. It has some funny symbols on the side as I turn it over. I rub my hand over the front of it…
"Mom? Whatcha doing?"
I stop cold. My son, out of bed, again. I look at him and he is once more fully dressed. Then I look at the clock: five to eight.
Okay, this is beyond weird. Everything is back in the box again and I am beginning to feel like Jack O'Neill in the Stargate SG-1 episode 'Window of Opportunity' where the characters are stuck in a time loop reliving the same 10 hours over and over again; except my loop seems to consist of approximately two and a half hours.
I hustle my son off to bed (for the third – and hopefully final? – time) before dumping the box out on the table to find the gold disk in its pouch. I look it over, being careful not to rub the front as I had done previously and my son seems to stay in bed (thank heavens). I wonder what on Earth I've discovered here when suddenly I get this light bulb idea. Except my bulb is probably about ten million candles in intensity.
Holy Hannah! It's the time travel device from the Mary Sue Experiments! I had just finished reading the saga of several of the Hogan's Heroes fan fiction writers and to be honest, I was a little jealous they all got to meet the real heroes. As far as I could remember, the fate of the device (devices – weren't there two at some point?) was unknown, other than the one in the National Archives in Washington, D.C. But this was Canada – how had the device ended up here?
I was really wishing for an instruction manual at this point. I know what you're thinking – a computer person wanting to RTFM? But yeah, I wanted to go back and visit those Heroes myself and if I could swing it, I would be there on my own without all the confusion of eight or so other time travelers. Then there was the added benefit of Hogan already knowing how to send me home and I wouldn't have to sing any silly songs.
I'm scheming at this point and I know it. I'm not really that brave (or that stupid?) but I'm seriously thinking of calling in sick tomorrow and spending the day in 1943. Actually 1944 might be safer since the original story took place in '43 and I wouldn't want to get caught up in that mess.
At this point I should probably explain I had a great imagination when I was growing up. Ever since reading C. S. Lewis' "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe", I would pretend I had a magical doorway in my closet. Except instead of taking me to a fantasy world, I would travel to any TV show I wanted and have adventures with the characters, or carry out an episode the way I would have written it, or some such. After hanging around in fan fiction, I guess you could say I'd imagine myself as a Mary Sue, although I didn't know what that was then. Hogan's Heroes was one of those TV worlds where I could be the Senior Female POW Officer in an all male camp, heroically jump in front of a bullet to save someone's life, be seduced by Hogan (well I wasn't married then!) and best Hochstetter while I was at it. Um, yeah that sounds really corny now but it seemed great back then.
So, do I tell my husband what I found? Not on your life. He doesn't really understand my obsession with Hogan's Heroes or my need to write fiction about them. Besides, I'll be home in time to cook dinner.
I didn't sleep much the night before, imagining all sorts of things about visiting the camp. I'm weighing the pros and cons on going prepared. The previous group that went was caught completely unawares, unlike me who could take anything with me I liked. But wouldn't I rather experience the era in its natural form? Where would be the fun in watching Carter wire his explosives if I showed up with C4 and electronic detonators? Not that I have access to anything even remotely like that, but you get my point.
And what do I wear? There is no way in heck I'm showing up in some skirt and pumps. The fact I don't even have an everyday skirt in my wardrobe should tell you something. I'm thinking just going in jeans and a sweatshirt with running shoes. Or should I wear something more military like my army boots? You can bet the boys won't have a size 4 ½ on hand. I'm really wishing I had a set of BDUs but I haven't got time…well now I guess I have all the time in the world don't I?
I scheme and scheme some more. There's an army surplus store in the next town over from me so I head there the next morning after dropping my son at school. I debated over postponing my trip until after I had learned to shoot a gun, but decided I couldn't wait that long. Besides I was only going to be there a few hours at the most; the odds of Colonel Hogan allowing me out on a mission would be somewhat less than nil, especially after his experiences with the first group of time travellers. Never mind the fact I wasn't sure I wanted to go on one in the first place, despite how cool it sounded. I'd like to imagine I'm brave.
Now back home, I quickly dress in my new fatigues, then pack a few items in my grandfather's WWII satchel, figuring I might as well try to be somewhat authentic and maybe it would bring me luck. I throw in my digital camera, pocket knife, compass, whistle, magnesium and flint block (not sure why, but it's part of my Girl Guide lost in the woods survival pack), a roll of duct tape (yeah, I watched MacGyver too), and a few other items as gifts. I have a bit of room on top so on impulse I grab a dozen eggs out of the fridge, figuring they'd make a nice peace offering. Okay, I'm ready to go. My tummy is doing flip-flops with excitement.
Now all I need to do is figure out how to send myself back to 1944, and not just relive the last two and half hours of my life. Not as easy as it sounds. I opened the compartment on the rear of the device and found the tool Byakugan had mentioned in his report from 1878 which is used to set the time period the traveler wants to jump to. It triggers a heads-up display and I attempt to set the right destination. Fairly confident I have it right, I grab my gear and rub the front of the device.
The world swirls around me – much more noticeable on a long trip over years than the split second disorientation of only shifting a couple of hours. My destination forms around me and all I see is dirt tunnels lit by bare bulbs and the odd kerosene lamp.
I've done it! I'm really here – the tunnels under Stalag 13!
I'm ecstatic, and then a shudder passes down my spine as one thing strikes me as a little odd: Where is everybody?
