Papa Bear Awards 2013

The Mission Briefing

From Russia, with Love

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The wind howled over the infinite white plain, hurtling the thin snowflakes hither and thither. A dazzling white from one horizon to another, and in the middle of this too white landscape, a small dot, struggling against the wind.

His hat pulled down, his scarf covering everything of his face save for the eyes, he protectively clutched the heavy bag he was carrying to his chest. He'd been told it was of truly paramount importance that it would reach its destination. And to accomplish that, the messenger struggled on, waist-deep in snow.

The temperature was way below zero. His legs were numb, but go on he must. Up the rise and...

"Oompf!"

Spluttering, the messenger sat up.

"Was...?" muttered the snowmound he just tried to climb.

And there, before his very eyes, rose none other than the feared snow giant from the Siberian tundra: Iwan the Terrible. Huge, white, rumbling, overpowering, angry, and... shivering?

"Brr, it's cold, isn't it? I must have dozed off for a moment, and look – I'm all snowed in already!"

The messenger scrambled to his feet. "You're a guard? Is this perhaps the 13th batallion then?"

"Um, jawohl, um..." The giant leaned forward and brushed some snow off the visitor's arm. "Jawohl, Lieutenant. This is indeed the 13th batallion. Or what's left of it. Sergeant Schultz reporting, sir." Iwan the Terrible saluted and in the process shook off some of the snow, revealing the very portly figure of the one time Sergeant of the Guard at Stalag 13.

"Good." The messenger let out a sigh of relief. "At least I've managed to complete my mission. I was ordered to deliver this here." He untangled himself from the bag he was carrying, and handed it over to the guard.

"What's this?" Schultz eyed the bag suspiciously. "It's heavy. Is it food?"

"It's the Papa Bear Awards. Sign here, bitte."

Schultz's face lit up as that of a child on Christmas Eve. "The Papa Bear Awards? Oh! So Colonel Hogan has not abandoned us – he... Kommandant!" He took off, trashing through the snow on his snow shoes. "Kommandant Klink! Wake up! The Papa Bear Awards are here!"

"Hey, wait! You haven't signed yet!" the messenger cried.

But Schultz had already burst into one of the little snow humps. "Kommandant! The Papa Bear Awards are here!"

"Schultz!" came a grumbling voice from inside, followed by a loud sneeze. "What happened to the art of knocking?"

"Verzeihung, Kommandant, but knocking on snow doesn't have the same effect as knocking on a door."

"I don't care what effect it has. Just make sure you knock before you come rushing in."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

"Now go outside again and knock before you enter."

"But Herr Kommandant..."

"Now!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

But before he could wriggle himself back out of the narrow entrance, somebody else came crawling in. "Sergeant, you didn't... Oh, good morning, sir. Lieutenant Schwanzenstolz reporting."

"Go back!" Schultz hissed at him. "We have to knock before entering the Kommandant's snow hut."

"Oh, Schultz, don't be ridiculous. Come in, Lieutenant. At ease."

Schultz raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How come he doesn't have to knock?"

"Because he's not you. Now, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

Lieutenant Schwanzenstolz shrugged. "A hot drink would be nice. But all I really need is for your Sergeant to sign for the acceptance of the Papa Bear Awards."

Klink sat up so suddenly that it looked like a bedspring just pinched him. (Not that they did have bedsprings at the Russian front of course.) "The Papa Bear Awards?" he stammered. "Did you say the Papa Bear Awards? Oh, Schultz, Colonel Hogan has not forgotten about us after all!"

Schwanzenstolz frowned. "Colonel Hogan? That name sounds awfully English."

"It is." Klink beamed. "It's American. He's the Senior Prisoner of War in the prison camp I used to command... my dear old Stalag 13..."

Schwanzenstolz's eyes narrowed. "And you refer to this Amerikaner as a friend who hasn't forgotten about you?"

"A friend? Oh, no! No. Not a friend!" Klink whinnied. "But when I got posted at the Russian front, he promised he'd send us the stories for the Papa Bear Awards as a comfy reminder of home. Of my old life as the toughest POW Kommandant in all of Germany." He looked around. "So where is it? The package, I mean."

Schwanzenstolz nodded to Schultz. "I gave it to the Sergeant. But he still needs to sign for it."

"I'll sign for it," Klink rushed out. "Now, Schultz, where is the package. Stories, Schultz – from home!"

"Um... it's outside, Kommandant. It hasn't knocked yet, you see, so I thought..."

"Dummkopf! Go get it!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz crawled back outside, and returned with a bulging bag full of papers. "Here you are, Kommandant."

"Oh, Schultz..." The Kommandant had tears in his eyes, which didn't improve his ability to open the bag's clasps. But finally he got them undone, and pulled out a huge stack of papers. "Look, so many stories! And there's a little note, too – from Colonel Hogan. 'Dear Kommandant and Sergeant Schultz,' it says. 'As promised, one copy of this year's stories competing for the Papa Bear Awards. Please let us know your nominations by Friday, March 1st. The list of categories can be found in the attachment, and remember, only one (1) nomination per category! Only for the quotes are you allowed to send in three (3). There's about 150 stories here, so we hope they'll keep you warm through the Russian winter. And as a special treat, we've thrown in a special anniversary category this year, choosing the best of the 10 winners from the past editions. See the attachments for details!

'Wishing you all the best,

Col. Robert E. Hogan (temp. ret.)'

"A hundred and fifty stories, Schultz!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

"What kind of stories would a prisoner of war send his former enemy Kommandant?" Schwanzenstolz wanted to know.

"Very simple, Lieutenant: the kind of stories in which the prisoners are the heroes, by committing sabotage and espionage right under the noses of their jailors. Fiction, of course. Completely harmless. It was one of my schemes to keep the prisoners where they belong. One they actually enjoyed. It's no coincidence that no one ever escaped from Stalag 13, you know!"

"Then what, may I ask, is a crackerjack prison camp Kommandant doing at the Russian front?"

Klink's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, well, that was all a mistake. Let's not get into that, shall we? We'd better start reading if we want to read all of this before March 1st!" He pushed a few stories in Schultz's eager hands, a few in Schwanzenstolz's...

"Why me?" the man protested.

"Read it!" the Kommandant ordered. "If only to learn how to run a prison camp. That could only come in handy the next time you're up for a promotion!"

"But...!"

"Read it, I said! Or would you rather go straight back out there in the freezing cold to return to your outfit?"

Schwanzenstolz shivered. "Maybe not."

"Then read it. Here."

"But that letter was talking about categories and nominations and I know not what! I don't know all these things!"

"Here." Schultz handed him a few loose sheets. "The PBA for Beginners will help you out. And here's a description of what's expected of you. Even a page with Frequently Asked Questions."

"Yes," Klink chimed in. "Now let us read in peace, will you? We'd like to imagine ourselves back at our cozy little Stalag 13..."

Schwanzenstolz looked at the papers in his hands. "Escapists..." he muttered. But his curiosity won out by far over his wish to brave the icy cold again, and with a fatalistic sigh, he began to read the instructions for the Papa Bear Awards. Starting with The Papa Bear Awards for Beginners.