I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.
Written because Sgt Moffit, reviewing another story, put in a request for Addison to get "a story all his own".
"Only six men at roll call again today."
Sergeant Schultz gazed sorrowfully at the handful of prisoners standing outside Barracks 2 in the early morning light, and sighed.
"Are you sure, Schultz?" asked Kinchloe. "Maybe you should count again."
"I don't need to count again," grumbled Schultz. "There are only six of you. Now I have to go into the barracks to make sure everyone else is there."
"You can't just take our word for it?"
"Oh, I would be happy to take your word. But I have to tell the Kommandant that I have counted every man. And I'm a terrible liar."
Kinch shrugged. "Okay, Schultz, it's your choice. Just don't wake anyone who's asleep."
Schultz gave a low-pitched growl, and clomped towards the barracks door, where he paused to cover his mouth and nose with an enormous handkerchief before proceeding indoors. He completed the count in record time, and came scuttling out as fast as he could.
"You can't outrun germs, Schultz," remarked Olsen laconically.
Walters snickered. "Schultz can't outrun anything."
"Schultz can't run at all," added Brodkin, with a lazy smirk. Addison, as usual, didn't say a word, but his eyes were bright with laughter.
"Jolly jokers," muttered Schultz, and turned to give his report to Colonel Klink, who was crossing the parade ground. "All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant."
Klink stopped at a safe distance. "Are you certain, Schultz?"
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. I went into the barracks and checked."
"Just as well." Klink squinted at the half-dozen men on parade. "I'll speak to Sergeant Kinchloe. The rest of you, dismissed. Tell me, sergeant - no, don't come any closer - how is Colonel Hogan this morning?"
"He was still sleeping when Schultz called us out," replied Kinch gravely. "It looks like he's over the worst, but some of the other men are still pretty sick."
"I'm sure they are." Klink's monocle gleamed in the sunlight. "You know the trouble with your Allied soldiers? Your decadent way of life has made you all weak. One little head cold and you fall down like ninepins. Whereas our fine German men are in such splendid physical condition that they are able to resist..."
He broke off in a squeak of alarm, at the sound of an almighty sneeze from Schultz.
"Yes, sir. Splendid physical condition," said Kinch. "Which reminds me, how's Lieutenant Bergman doing? And Captain Gruber? And the men in Guard Barracks B?"
The Kommandant scowled. "Dismissed. No, Schultz, don't come near me." He executed a swift retreat towards his office, leaving the German and American sergeants staring after him.
Schultz blew his nose. "What's wrong with the big shot?" he mumbled from behind the handkerchief.
"Maybe he's coming down with something," said Kinch. "Excuse me, Schultz, the medic's here."
He met Sergeant Wilson at the door of the barracks. "What's the situation this morning?" asked Wilson.
"Well, LeBeau's temperature is down, but Newkirk's is up," replied Kinch. "And Carter keeps complaining that he can't sleep, because the pirates are making so much noise."
"Is he delirious?"
"He'd better be." Kinch opened the door of the barracks, but paused before entering. "Maybe you should take a look at Colonel Hogan first," he said.
"Worried about him?"
"No, I think he's doing okay, but not well enough to get back to work. Trouble is, if anything urgent comes up, and he knows the boys are all still bedridden, he's likely to want to go himself. I can't make him stay put, but he'll listen to you."
Wilson gave him a mildly exasperated glare. "Since when did anybody in this barracks ever listen to me? Okay, Kinch, I'll see what I can do." He went on into Hogan's quarters, with Kinch at his heels.
Hogan, drowsing in the lower bunk, half-opened his eyes as the door opened, then carefully raised himself up onto one elbow. "Well, there's only one of you this morning, Wilson, so I must be on the mend," he said.
"You're making sense, anyway," replied Wilson. "You were a little out of it for a day or so."
"I was?"
Wilson sat on the edge of the bed, and rummaged in his canvas medical kitbag for his thermometer. "Hold this under your tongue. Yep, we had a couple of real interesting conversations. I'm pretty sure you thought I was someone else." He held up a hand at the first sign of a question on Hogan's lips. "Don't talk. If you bite that thermometer in half, you'll end up with mercury poisoning. What's more, I'd have to get another one from somewhere, and they're not easy to come by."
He took Hogan's wrist to check the pulse. "Sure would like to meet this Dianne some time. Sounds like she's quite a gal," he went on, in a meditative tone. Kinch tried to hide a smile, and after a few seconds Hogan's eyes narrowed with laughter.
"Actually, her name's Denise," he said, as soon as the thermometer was removed. "And you're right, she's a real stunner. Black hair, blue eyes, skin like silk..."
"Steady, Colonel. You're still convalescing," said Wilson.
Hogan gave a soft chuckle, which ended in a cough, and Kinch frowned slightly. "That doesn't sound so good," he said.
"It's better than it was before," murmured Hogan. "Well, how about it, Wilson? Can I get up?"
"Yeah, but take it easy for a few days," replied Wilson. "No excitement. Find a comfortable place outdoors, get a bit of sunshine, stick to simple food - by the way, if LeBeau's sick, who's cooking?"
"Addison," said Kinch. "So don't worry, it'll be simple, all right. But he'll have to go into Hammelburg for supplies. We're low on everything. Of course, we could steal from the Krauts, but they're on short commons right now, too. Mostly pork knuckles and sauerkraut, going by the smell from the mess hall. I don't think that's what you had in mind."
"Not even close." Wilson stood up. "I'll have a talk to Addison before he goes. But first I better check on Carter - is that a sea shanty he's singing?"
"I guess he decided, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," remarked Kinch.
As the medic left the room, Hogan sat up. "What's that about Carter?"
A touch of anxiety shaded his voice, and Kinch hastened to reassure him. "He's all right, Colonel. He's just wandering a bit. Kind of like you did, only without the beautiful women. Easy, now."
Hogan had staggered a little as he got to his feet. "I'm okay, Kinch," he said. "Just need to get my land legs back. I'll be fine once I've had a cup of coffee, and a shave." He ran his fingers across his chin.
"I'll get you some hot water." Kinch retreated to the main barracks to fetch the kettle which stood on the stove, simmering quietly. Someone had put the coffee pot on next to it, but it wasn't ready yet.
Wilson was stooping over Carter, checking his pulse rate. From the crease between the medic's eyebrows, he wasn't pleased about it.
"Toora-loora-loora-li, toora-loora-loora-li, yo, ho, it makes me wonder," sang Carter, in a soft, sleepy voice which somehow managed to stay on pitch.
Newkirk uttered a groan, and turned over to glare down at his mate in the lower bunk. "Carter, put a sock in it," he croaked. "You're really starting to get on my wick."
"It wasn't me who started it," protested Carter. "It was..."
"I don't care who started it. One more peep out of you, and I'll be the one to end it."
"Careful there," said Wilson, pushing the Englishman back to a safer position. "You're going to fall off that bunk if you keep leaning over like that. Anyway, Carter's feverish. You can't expect him to be rational."
"He's never been bleedin' rational," Newkirk grumbled. "Just because he's hearing things that aren't there is no reason the rest of us should suffer. It's bad enough having that bloody great herd of rhinoceros thumping round the place, without Carter and his imaginary pirates making even more of a row."
"Uh-huh," murmured the medic. "Well, we can fix that. Can some of you fellers chase those rhinos out?"
Kinch suppressed a sigh. It looked like things weren't getting back to normal any time soon.
He took the kettle back to the office, where Hogan had almost finished dressing. "Coffee's coming right up," he said. "Anything else I can do?"
"You can bring me up to date," replied Hogan. "What's been happening with operations?"
"We've had to lie low, Colonel." Kinch read dissatisfaction in Hogan's eye, and hastened to explain further. "Practically everyone in Barracks 2 and 3 has been sick, plus a few other guys around camp as well. The Underground are supposed to be handling any Allied airmen who turn up, and everything else is on hold."
Hogan had started working up a shaving lather, but his hand stopped moving. "Supposed to be?"
"Well, we haven't had radio contact for a few days," replied Kinch. "But that's no surprise, seeing we've been out of action. They won't risk using the radio just to send get-well messages. Addison's going into Hammelburg, and he'll have to call in at the grocer's. He can get an update from Max while he's there."
"Okay. Give him the recognition code, and tell him to stay out of trouble," said Hogan; then, as he caught Kinch's eye, he laughed. "Yeah, I know. It's Addison."
Kinch was chuckling, too. For once, they didn't have to worry. If there was one man in Stalag 13 who could be trusted to behave himself, Addison was the man.
Note: Carter's "sea shanty" is nothing of the kind. To see what it actually is, go to YouTube and search for "Friends of the Castanet Club". And don't blame me if you don't like what you find.
