A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.
Written for the 2014 Short Story Speedwriting Challenge.
The first line is from "Love Sprung From Hate", by Oboecrazy.
The smell struck Sergeant Andrew Carter so suddenly that he came to a halt in the middle of the woods.
Corporal Peter Newkirk, who was suffering from his usual springtime allergies, didn't notice the aroma wafting in the air and almost ran into his American comrade.
"Oi, mate!" he complained in a querulous whisper. "Can't you give a bloke some warning when you're about to go into one of your daydreams?"
Carter blushed, and replied in a low voice, "Oh, sorry, Newkirk. But I just smelled something, and it smelled an awful lot like perfume!"
"Perfume?" said the third member of the team, with a skeptical twist to his expressive mouth. "André, do you realize what you are saying? Are you trying to imply that a mere American can spot the presence of une belle femme before a Frenchman can?"
"Maybe 'e can at that, Louis." Newkirk bent down to pick up a small white piece of cloth clinging to a bush, and he held it out to Corporal Louis LeBeau so the little Frenchman could get a whiff.
LeBeau's eyes widened as the bit of cloth—apparently a handkerchief—was waved under his nose, and he sniffed at it gingerly. "Ah, could it be? It smells a bit like L'amour Dangereux, a scent that brings back memories of my youth, the most ardent days of my life! But more importantly, that is the scent that belongs to mon ange, ma chérie, my Marya!"
"My gosh!" Carter looked around in justifiable alarm. "Are you sure?"
"Me sainted aunt!" Newkirk pulled the cloth away from LeBeau and sniffed at it himself. "That might be what the Russian bird wears, Louis, but this ain't it, at least not the way I remember her. Smells to me more like flowers, the sort o' thing that ordinary girls like Helga or Hilda might put on."
Carter bent closer and sniffed too. "Reminds me a little bit of the stuff Mady wears. But not exactly."
LeBeau was disgruntled over having his olfactory expertise questioned, and he grabbed the cloth for another sniff. "Perhaps you are right. The scent is familiar, but it is not my Marya's after all." He handed the piece of cloth to Carter, who pocketed it.
Newkirk nodded. "Belongs to some girl from the Underground, eh? Who else would be wandering in these woods?"
"But the Underground agent we are to meet has the name of Heinrich," objected LeBeau.
"Could be a code name," said Carter. "Maybe Heinrich is some gorgeous redhead of the female type."
"Not the way our luck's been running, mate," Newkirk said. "More likely Heinrich will turn out to be an old buzzard of eighty or so, of the male type."
They pondered this for a moment, and then Newkirk shrugged. "Might as well get a move on, chums. This moonlight won't last forever."
So they made their way through the woods and very soon reached the Hammelburg road. At this time of night the stretch of roadway was usually deserted, but the three were caught up short by the sight of a vehicle pulled to the side of the road, with shuttered headlights casting a dim glow and a dark figure standing alongside it.
The dark figure waved, and said something that seemed to be the German equivalent of "Yoo-hoo!" The person was not very tall, and the voice was female. She called again: "Hello there, can you help me? My car won't start."
Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau looked at each other.
"That's not the recognition signal," muttered Newkirk. "Can't be Heinrich, then—we should just scarper."
"D'accord," LeBeau said, casting an uneasy glance in the direction of the woman and her car.
But Carter threw caution to the winds and approached the lady, emboldened by the fact that the three of them were dressed in civilian clothing, and that the woman seemed to be quite alone. The first thing he noticed as he came near was her scent: a little flowery, a little spicy, but very feminine, just like the smell he first noticed back in the woods.
"Pardon me, Fräulein, but did you happen to drop this?" He produced the handkerchief from his pocket and she peered at it in the dim light.
"Oh yes, I must have!" she responded. "I wandered off the road seeking help, because I could hear some voices in that direction, but I decided I shouldn't stray far from my car and turned back. And then I realized how very late it must be! They will be worried about me, you know." Her voice became very quiet and wobbled a bit, as though it had suddenly struck her that chatting with a strange man on a dark and deserted road mightn't be the wisest thing to do.
By this time Newkirk and LeBeau had caught up with Carter, and Newkirk said with belated gallantry, "It is no problem, Fräulein. We will check under the hood for you."
"Oh, danke!"
LeBeau's thick French accent usually prevented him from conversing freely when he was posing as a German, so he just nodded to the lady and went around to the front of the car. He lifted the hood while Newkirk pulled a flashlight from his pocket to illuminate the engine.
LeBeau wiggled a few wires and finally gave a satisfied grunt. Newkirk called out to the lady, "My friend here has located your difficulty, Fräulein. A spark plug wire was loose—you can go ahead and start your car now."
The woman climbed behind the wheel and turned the ignition key. As the engine roared into life, she laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. LeBeau slammed the hood shut and he and Newkirk came back to stand with Carter near the driver's side door.
The woman put the vehicle in gear and turned to look at her deliverers, her face a pale oval in the darkness. "Danke vielmals!"
"Bitte schön!" they called out after her, as the car drove off.
Newkirk said, a little wistfully, "Did you notice 'er perfume?"
LeBeau sighed. "Oui, it was the same scent as the handkerchief! A lovely scent for a lovely lady."
Newkirk snorted. "As if you could see if she was a lovely lady or not, in the dark!"
"She seemed real nice, anyway," said Carter. "I'm glad we could help her."
And the three trudged off toward their rendezvous with Heinrich, each with the pleasant memory of the lady's scent drifting through his mind.
Meanwhile, the lady watched the road signs carefully and sighed with relief as the outskirts of Hammelburg came into view. Tomorrow she was to meet her brother at Luftstalag 13, but tonight the Hauserhof was her goal and she was more than ready to seek her bed.
How fortunate that she had encountered those three young men back there! And Gertrude Linkmeyer smiled.