Hogan's Heroes and Hawaii Five-O belong to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.
The section headings are adapted from Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8. No copyright infringement is intended
A TIME TO HEAL
December 6, 1973: To everything there is a season . . .
The words sprang unbidden into General Robert Hogan's mind as the small launch pulled away from the dock. December 6. Tomorrow would bring the remembrance of the attack on Pearl Harbor, but today brought its own memories. December 6, 1942. The day Beidenbender earned his general's star. The day he lost his pride, his bomber Goldilocks. The day that led to Stalag 13, to unexpected allies, unimaginable adventures, lifelong friends.
The launch slowed as it approached the gleaming white Arizona memorial. Hogan stepped across to the landing stage and saluted sharply as the notes of the bugle sounded and the flag was raised, here and on Navy vessels and installations across the island of Oahu. Fifty stars now, forty-eight then. Still the same flag. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he remembered the day in 1945 when he raised that flag over Stalag 13, the pride with which he and his team, even Newkirk and LeBeau, saluted it. Liberation day.
It had become his custom over the years to take a few private moments to commemorate this day and to pay tribute to his crew. They'd fought valiantly to save the battered bomber, but even their best - their bravest - efforts weren't enough. They'd bailed out as the bomber spiraled into the field. A few managed to escape. Others didn't make it. He'd been captured. He shuttered the painful memories away as he entered the memorial. So many sacrifices.
o-o-o-o-o
A time for war . . .
Danny Williams blinked back tears as he searched the memorial wall. He focused on one name: Williams, Francis J., GMC. Chief Gunner's Mate, in charge of Turret II. The young detective pulled out an old, fading color photo. His dad stood tall and proud in his chief's khakis, his pretty, sandy-haired mom at his side, and holding her hand, himself, barely three years old. He studied the photo, disjointed thoughts swirling in his mind. What would it have been like to have grown up with my parents? Maybe with brothers and sisters? It had been so many years, but on this day, as always on the days surrounding the anniversary of the attack, he grieved for the life he never had and the parents he knew only from old photos and his Aunt Clara's stories.
The sound of footsteps broke into his thoughts. Steve? No, Hogan! He turned to greet the officer. He was too close to tears to offer any words.
Hogan spoke for him. He'd had plenty of practice at Stalag 13 when his men received bad news. "A time for memories, Danny?" He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, a gesture so reminiscent of Steve's. "Want to talk about it?" The picture Danny held caught his eye. "Your parents? May I see it?"
"My dad and mom and me," Danny confirmed Hogan's surmise. "They died here, at Pearl Harbor. My dad's name is on the wall here." He pointed to the inscription. "He would have been at his duty station when that last bomb hit. Gun Turret II. He must have been killed instantly. They never found his body."
Hogan tightened his grip. There were no words, just "I'm sorry. It was a tremendous loss for you." The former POW's father had served in France during World War I. At Ypres. He'd been wounded, but at least he'd come home.
Danny brushed a tear off his cheek. "My mom had gone to Pearl to meet my dad. He was supposed to have the day off. They were going shopping for a birthday present for me. She never got there. Her car was hit by shrapnel. She was pretty torn up. She died a few hours later in the hospital. She'd left me with a neighbor. They wouldn't let me see her. She was buried on the Mainland." Danny's voice shook as he recounted the story.
Hogan held on to the sandy-haired cop until he regained his composure. "This is the first time I've been out here," Dan admitted. "I had to see it. I'm working security here at tomorrow's ceremonies and I knew I had to face it first."
"That took courage," Hogan offered. He smiled at Dan's "I didn't want to let Steve down." Williams' answer reminded him of Carter. The young sergeant would have died rather than let the team – let him - down.
"I was so young when my parents died that I only have hazy memories, more like random impressions," Danny continued. "My dad's jokes. My mom's laughter. Aunt Clara's stories and photos. I had a good foster family, but it wasn't the same." He looked at the tall officer. "You must have suffered losses during the war. How did you deal with it?"
"You don't," Hogan answered, "at least not easily. Sometimes the best you can do is come to terms with it, live with it day by day, deal with any guilt."
"Guilt?" Danny's curiosity was aroused.
"Let me tell you a story."
o-o-o-o-o
December 6, 1942: A time to lose . . .
Hogan grinned at his crew. "Last mission, guys. Number 25, then rotation home and leave." Goldilocks had served valiantly over the past year. She'd taken some hits, a few of them serious, but had always brought them home safely. The Colonel patted the B-17's fuselage. "Gonna miss you, old girl. Bring us home tonight, too."
Tonight's target: Hamburg. Hogan's squad would have a fighter escort part of the way, but once they reached the German coast, they'd be on their own. They'd fly high, coming in only for bombing runs. Command had slated this as a 'nuisance run;' the major attack would take place sometime in the next few months. Their mission: aerial surveillance of the submarine pens, docks and shipyards, take photos, drop a few bombs to keep the Krauts off guard, get home. As his co-pilot had said, "Piece of cake." Just another routine mission.
As if any of them are routine. The thought crossed the dark-haired pilot's mind. He suddenly felt as if someone were walking on his grave.
o-o-o-o-o
Hogan brought Goldilocks in low over the Bremerhaven Naval Base. One of the crew fed him the necessary information: twelve submarines in port; two sub tenders docked nearby. A few well-placed bombs dealt havoc to the well-ordered base. A quick run back upstairs and the B-17 headed for its next target.
"Oil tanks in sight!" Goldilocks' navigator called out. "Over target in three!" Hogan brought the bomber in for another run; the crew cheered as the tanks erupted in an explosion of smoke and flame.
"That's it for today, guys," the dark-haired pilot said. "That'll give the Wehrmacht some trouble. Now let's go home!"
Home! The word echoed in all their minds. Back to the states. Family. Mom's real home cooking. Girls, maybe that one special girl. Freedom from fear, at least for a while. Time to enjoy life. Maybe even a medal or two. Until . . .
"Messerschmitts! On our tail!" The tail gunner's yell was punctuated by the sound of machine bullets from his gun. "Got one!"
"Coming up on our right!" the co-pilot's yell alerted his C.O. The rattle of bullets crashed through the plane's window and the young officer slumped forward, blood gushing from several wounds. Hogan felt for a pulse. Nothing!
"Colonel!" the navigator's frightened voice called. "Starboard engine's on fire!" Machine gun bullets continued to pound the injured bomber, cutting through her skin, inflicting wound after wound. Screams from injured - maybe dying – crew cut into Hogan's heart. We should have been on our way home! Not dying! A hail of bullets barely missed him as a fighter moved in for the kill, close enough for him to catch a glimpse of its pilot. Beidenbender! You'll pay for this!
Hogan tightened his grip on the controls; his will the only thing keeping Goldilocks aloft. More fighters surrounded him. Both portside engine spouted flames. No power. We'll never make it on just one engine! He forced back tears of anger and frustration as he spoke the order no commander ever wants to give "Bail out! I'll bring her down as low as I can!" Got to give the guys a chance! "Good luck!" And God keep us all! He fingered the rosary he kept in his pocket, a gift from his mom just before he sailed for England. God help me . . .
He fought the controls as long as he could, counting the parachutes as they blossomed. Six men out. That meant four dead. They'd go down with the plane, its death throes their funeral pyre. He took a final look around the smoke-filled cockpit. Good-bye, old girl. Sorry it had to end like this. Pushing the hatch open, he jumped.
He couldn't watch – but he had to watch in a final tribute – as in her death dive Goldilocks spiraled to the ground. The bomber screamed in metal agony as she hit, fire and exploding fuel tanks signaling her end. He could only hope that some of the crew survived the jump. They'd probably be captured, rounded up and sent to prison camps for the duration. Or until our tanks come rolling across Germany and the Nazis are history. He'd face interrogation, maybe a show trial, possibly execution or a long time as a prisoner in some tough Stalag. He'd been a thorn in the Krauts' side far too long. Whatever happens to me, I'll never stop fighting! It was a personal vow he meant to keep, no matter what the cost. I promise you that, guys. I promise you!"
o-o-o-o-o
December 6, 1973: A time to heal . . .
Danny let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding as Hogan's story came to an end. He was caught up in the emotion, the sorrow, the valor of the tale. "What happened then? Did you ever find any of your crew?" The questions spilled out like water over a dam.
"Two of the guys made it to England somehow. The others were rounded up and sent to different prison camps. My team got three of them out of Germany; one died a prisoner. I'd lost almost half my crew on that mission. They were real heroes, all of them."
"What about you?"
"I managed to avoid the Krauts for a few days with the help of the Underground. They got me back on the way to the coast, but there were just too many Nazis looking for me. After all, I was a prize catch. Got sent to a Dulag for interrogation. That's where I first ran into Major Hochstetter. He must have gotten tired of hearing me recite my name, rank, and serial number." Hogan almost smiled at the memory.
"Since they didn't shoot me right away, I figured I'd be used for a prisoner exchange. I expected to be sent to an Oflag, a POW camp for officers. Instead, I was shipped to Stalag 13. But you know those stories. Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau never get tired of telling them.
Danny grinned. He'd heard more than a few of those tales. Hogan had certainly earned his Medal of Honor!
"Goldilocks stayed with me for a long time," Hogan went on. "I re-lived that last mission over and over in my nightmares for months. It was only when one of my crew turned up in the tunnels under Stalag 13 that I finally came to terms with it. He made me realize that I'd done my best for them, was still doing my best. 'Just get this war over sooner,' he told me. 'Then we can all go home.' I remembered my pledge and realized I was living up to it. Just like you do in Five-O."
"Thanks, Rob," Danny wiped away a tear. He looked back at the memorial wall. "My dad was a hero," he said quietly. "He did his best for his ship and his country."
"So was your mom," Hogan added. "She loved her family and did her best for you and your dad. They'd both be proud of you." He squeezed Danny's shoulder then grinned as he checked his watch. "You know, I think we're supposed to be meeting with Steve and Admiral McHale just to make sure everything's ready for tomorrow's ceremonies. His tone grew serious. "Are you ready for that?"
"I am now," Danny answered. "I am now."
Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day
December 7, 2013
In honor of the men and women
of the Greatest Generation