CAUTION:
This story contains a scene that may make some people uncomfortable. Proceed with care.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes, nor am I making any money from this story.

He tried to remember, but the blood trickled down into his eye from a cut on his forehead and blurred his vision. He blinked furiously to clear it. He had to focus on the ingredients. Chocolate - yes, definitely chocolate. A couple of ounces of it, grated and melted into milk. Blend that with melted butter and flour…

"Who is Papa Bear?"

The German voice broke in on his reverie and he glared fiercely. He'd made a mistake. A stupid mistake. Clumsy, clumsy fool! He had to keep his mouth shut, that he knew, so he did. He kept his mouth shut while the fists pummeled his flesh creating a loud, sickening smack with every blow. He felt dizzy and his stomach heaved, threatening to betray him; but, he kept his mouth shut by focusing on the recipe.

Eggs… three or was it four? They must be separated and yolks set aside. Whites were to be beaten - he smiled wryly at that - beaten into stiff peaks. It would take a long time by hand, but he wouldn't use a cranked mixer. No, that just wasn't the same. You lacked control with those gadgets. Lacked control…

"Unter!"

They plunged his head down into the tub of cold water. The temperature shock made his whole body shudder. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to keep calm… The yolks. The yolks were to be - his lungs burned, screaming for oxygen - blended into the chocolate mixture one at a time. He felt himself struggling against the firm hands holding him down. Just when he felt the world starting to drift, they pulled him out. He gasped in the air greedily.

"Unter!"

Again he was plunged down. He was losing his grip - losing his focus. Eggs? No you've done eggs… What next? He surely was tired, so tired that he just couldn't remember and he stopped struggling.

H~H

The desk sergeant honestly wished that the ground could and would open up to swallow him completely. He flinched with each howl of disapproval and every brutal, cutting remark about their sloppiness, inefficiency, and sheer stupidity. The sergeant looked over to the under-officer with a plea, surely he could grant him a reprieve.

"Colonel Carterheim?" The lieutenant finally piped up. "Perhaps you should remind him of General Kinchmeyer's orders?"

Colonel Carterheim stopped ranting for a moment and turned his critical eye on the sergeant. "You have brought in a suspected Underground member with possible ties to the elusive Papa Bear, have you not?" he asked. The sergeant could only nod and Carterheim continued, "General Kinchmeyer of the S.S. wants him brought to Berlin for he himself to interrogate."

"Please, Herr Colonel," the poor sergeant said, "I am only a sergeant. I have no authority…"

"Authority?!" Carterheim screeched. "You need no authority! I have all the authority! Authority that will send you and this entire station to the Eastern Front!"

The lieutenant smiled, "I'm sure that's not what the sergeant means, is it?"

"Shut up, Hoganbaum! You will all need snowshoes by the time I send my report to Berlin!"

The Sergeant nodded, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the phone. He turned his back on the two officers as he spoke. Behind his back, Hogan gave Carter a look that would melt ice and mouthed, 'don't pad you part!'. Carter gave him a lopsided grin, shrugging in a way of silent apology.

"Captain Kleinmann says you are to go straight through," The sergeant said. He hung up the phone and came from behind the desk. "If you will just follow me?"

They followed him through one door and down a short hallway to another door. He knocked and after receiving authorization went in. Carter pushed passed him, his persona was fully intact until he spotted a battered and very still LeBeau. His face and shoulders were sopping wet and his lips - where they weren't swollen and cut - were turning a bit blue.

"Is he still alive?" He was so shocked and worried that his voice slipped into its natural tone. He quickly cleared his throat, resuming his German front, adding, "If he is dead, I will not be held responsible for what General Kinchmeyer does."

Kleinmann was standing in front of his chair and he smiled viciously. "No need for worry, Herr Colonel. He is very much alive, though I had hoped that I could finish this little session. He will give me the information when he comes to and then I will shoot him."

Carter took in the man's sneerful face, his thin lips and distinctly Aryan features. He'd given it some thought as he'd worked on this persona - he'd studied pictures of Hitler, Goring, and Himmler and had decided that this must be what the face of evil looked like. This stupidly prideful and cruel attitude was what evil truly was. Not trusting himself to remain in character, he looked away and said in a low tone, "Nein. He will be cuffed and placed in my car. Hoganbaum, see to it."

"Jawhol, Herr Colonel," Hogan replied, taking a pair of cuffs from his belt. "I will need a hand."

Kleinmann nodded to one of his henchmen who assisted Hogan in carrying the disturbingly still form out of the torture room. He then turned to Carter, saying cheerfully, "I hope you will not have any trouble. If you'd like, I can send Burmeister or Schmidt with you?"

"That will not be necessary, danke," Carter gave him a dismissive nod and then raised his hand lazily. "Heil Hitler."

He didn't wait for a response as he hurried out the door and down the steps, passing Burmeister or perhaps it was Schmidt on his way. Hogan was all ready in the driver's seat with the engine started, he climbed into the back beside LeBeau. Hogan pressed the gas even before Carter had completely shut the door.

"I don't think he looks so good," Carter said as he removed the cuffs from his friend's bruised wrists. "They sure did work him over."

Hogan kept his head toward the road, but glanced at them through the rear mirror. He pulled onto the road out of Dusseldorf and said, "See if you can wake him up. We need to know where he stashed the microfilm."

Carter dug the bottle of ammonia nitrate out of his breast pocket. He'd made these smelling salts himself and always brought them with him on rescue missions. The Gestapo's tacts made often made it a necessity. He uncorked the small glass bottle and waved it under LeBeau's nose. The Frenchman inhaled sharply and coughed, sounding very bad indeed. His eyes fluttered open and he whispered, "Place in a moderate oven for forty minutes to an hour. Voila, soufflé au chocolat."

"Louis?" Carter asked softly. "Are you all right?"

LeBeau blinked a couple of times and appeared to go back to sleep. Carter uncorked the smelling salts and swiped it past the chef's nose. His eyes flew open and he coughed again. "Will you quit that, Andre!" He snapped before muttering, "Un homme ne peut-il pas souffrir en paix?"*

Carter couldn't be quite sure what he'd said - he'd have to ask Kinch it translate - but he was sure that he didn't like the sound of it. "The Colonel needs to know where the film is," he said.

LeBeau groaned and pulled up his foot gingerly placing it on his knee. "It is in my boot. After I stupidly knocked over that garbage can outside the window, I ran…" he paused to suck in a deep breath, while Carter removed the leather boot. "When they sealed off the street that quickly, I knew I could not get out so I hid it. They would not have found it until they were picking my body for souvenirs."

Hogan swallowed hard at that thought, from the looks of him they had got there just in the nick of time. But it was better not to dwell on those thoughts for too long. "Did they suspect Cobra?" he asked.

LeBeau shrugged. "I do not think so, but it is possible that she has been exposed."

"I'll let the Baron know, he'll decide what to do for her."

LeBeau accepted this with a grunt before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep. Carter grabbed a blanket from the floorboard and covered his friend. Then he climbed over the back of the front seat to settle in beside the Colonel. He handed Hogan the film, which he tucked into his breast pocket.

"His face is a mess," Carter commented, being sure to keep his voice low. "What'll we tell Klink?"

"Thankfully, we have about six hours to think about that," he said. "Keep your eyes sharp, though. I don't want any surprises."

Hogan took another glance at LeBeau through the mirror. It had been risky and he was tremendously proud of him. Proud that he'd rode up to Dusseldorf that morning in the cramped hide-away of a caterer's truck, despite of his claustrophobia. Proud that he'd cooked and served the Gestapo, Abwehr, and S.S. men, despite his immense hatred of them. But most of all, proud that he'd remained uncompromised and so did the operation and the Underground contacts. It might not have been pretty, but the job was completed and Newkirk could get the negatives to the submarine tomorrow night. He patted the microfilm and sighed. Another mission to put in the books.

Fin

Translation:

Un homme ne peut-il pas souffrir en paix? - Can not a man suffer in peace?

Author's Note: I was watching an episode of 'Foyle's War' and they had a scene similar to the first one, which they used as training... which gave me the inspiration to write this. I hope you enjoyed it. :)