Author's Note: In case you're wondering, yes, this is an excuse to brag on my favorite out of all fifty states, Alaska. On a historical note, I feel it necessary to explain the animosity displayed toward people of Japanese ethnicity in this story. After the bombing of Pearly Harbor, the American people went so far as to arrest Japanese-American citizens (called Issei if they were immigrants or Nisei if they were born on US soil) and place them in internment camps. Never underestimate the power of fear.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters. I did make up Eddie and Angel though.
NORTH! TO STALAG 13
"He looks like a Jap to me." Carter said, an out-of-place frown on his face. The potato he had been peeling was lying forgotten on his lap as he watched the new prisoner being unloaded. Colonel Hogan, Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau were also standing or sitting around, observing the procedure in the manner of men who had nothing better to do.
"Take it easy Carter." Kinch said mildly. "The Japs aren't all bad. We've even got a few of them in our army." He knew as well as anyone that after Pearl Harbor, American feeling towards people of Japanese descent had cooled considerably, even towards Japanese-Americans. Thus Carter's unusual animosity.
"It still doesn't hurt to be careful." Colonel Hogan said. He was leaning against the barracks wall, hat pulled half way over his eyes to block out the bright, late morning sun. "When can we get in touch with London again, Kinch?"
"Radio silence is supposed to go on for another five days." The sergeant replied. He had a fair idea of where the question had come from. "We can check him out then."
"Right." Hogan straightened slightly. "Until then, he stays in the dark. Got it?"
There was a chorus of assent to the orders.
"You gotta be careful around those Japs." Carter took on his 'interrogator' look, which on him was completely laughable. Especially since his methods of determining if someone was friend or foe consisted of questions from the world of American sports and cinema.
"What could be so bad about them?" LeBeau wanted to know. His world in France was far removed from Japanese influence.
"Well, they've got some funny ideas about loyalty, that's for sure." Carter answered. "I've heard they would kill themselves before they get captured."
"This one seems pretty alive." Hogan noted in amusement.
"And they eat fish and fish eggs." Carter continued, completely unabashed.
"The Frenchies eat snails." Newkirk interrupted. "Ya never complained about them." He shot a look at his little French companion, daring him to answer.
"Escargot is a delicacy!" No one could ever say that LeBeau didn't rise to a challenge. "It is far too fine for your English tastes."
Newkirk would have made a reply to spur the argument along, but Carter wasn't finished. "And there's more." Carter's eyes narrowed. "They have those…. those… sneaky guys in black that carry long swords and ambush people." He had to stop as he realized he didn't remember what they were called.
"I hardly think that the Germans would send any ninjas into a prisoner of war camp on purpose, Carter." Kinch pointed out.
"Still, you never know." Carter persisted.
"At any rate," The colonel broke in. "I think I've given Klink enough time." He zipped up his jacket and straightened his hat. "It's time for the Stalag 13 welcoming party."
A jump, skip and a hop across the compound later, Hogan was standing in the Klink's office yawning his way through the last few sentences of Klink's 'toughest POW camp in all of Germany' speech while sizing up the new man. He wore an American uniform with a sergeant's bars and still stood in stoic military attention. He was somewhat shorter than average, with a shock of black hair, tan skin, a peculiarly oval shaped face and dark eyes that were natural squinted. The expression on his face was completely unreadable.
"Now Sergeant…" Klink had to check his papers for the man's name. "White. Just for our meticulous camp records, where was the airbase you were stationed at?"
"Name, ranks and serial number. No more than that soldier." Hogan interrupted.
"White, Edward H. Sergeant. Serial number…" White only got that far before Klink interrupted him.
"I know what your serial number is." He growled. The effect of Klink's growl tended more toward hilarity than fear, but White showed neither. "And Hogan, I'll thank you to keep out of this."
"According to the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention, I'm entitled to be present when a prisoner is questioned." The sentence rattled off Hogan's lips almost before he thought about it. Someday he was going to have to actually read the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention.
"But you are not entitled to disturb my interrogation." Klink shot back.
"An interrogation? Is that what that was?" Hogan went from demanding to fascinated in nanoseconds. "Wow Kommandant. I thought that question was part of the introduction to Stalag 13. I mean, you slip it in every time. That's the sure sign of a masterful interrogator."
"Thank you Hogan." Klink looked pleased and he had completely forgotten his original question.
"You know, I'd love to pick up some pointers, but I'm afraid we really must be going." Hogan began backing the prisoner towards the door, talking all the way. "It's been a pleasure to listen to you at your work, Commandant. Like hearing a musician at his performance. I do hope you'll allow me to stop in again?" By now, White was in the outer office and Hogan was standing in the doorway.
"Why yes. Of course." Klink was on flattery overload, hardly aware of what was happening.
"Oh thank you sir." Hogan saluted and slammed the door shut.
Klink sat at his desk for a full minute, carefully expanding his ego on Colonel Hogan's comments. It wasn't until he actually looked down at his desk and saw the papers that he remembered that he was supposed to be interrogating a new prisoner. "HOGAN!"
The American colonel only caught a faint echo of the yell as he was already stepping outside the office with the prisoner. "Alright Sergeant, welcome to Stalag 13." He said, turning to the short man beside him.
"Thank you sir." White answered. His voice bore a slight accent that Hogan had never heard before and couldn't trace.
"You'll be in hut number three." Colonel Hogan continued, pointing in the barrack's direction. "The guys will fill you in as to how things work around here."
"Yes sir, colonel." Eddie White wasn't sure how to handle this unusual camp, so he stuck to military protocol.
Hogan noticed. "At ease White. We don't stand on rank around here."
"Right sir." White couldn't quite keep that last 'sir' from slipping out.
Hogan didn't have time to address it as he spotted a familiar truck coming in the front gate. It wasn't time for a dog change yet and that could only mean one thing. "I'm sure you can find your own way to the barracks, White." He told the new man distractedly. "I have some business to attend to." With that, Hogan strode back across the compound to where his men were also watching the dog being unloaded from Oscar's truck.
"The dogs are being changed early this week." Kinch noted, frowning ever so slightly.
"Yeah, I noticed." Hogan stared in the direction of the pen. "I'm going to talk to him. Cover me if Shultz comes along."
"Right." Newkirk answered for all of them, frowning in concentration and puzzlement.
Colonel Hogan walked across the compound boldly, looking as if he had somewhere to go and something to do. His eyes were constantly scanning the camp, looking for potential problems. He reached his goal and leaned casually against the side of the truck. "Mornin' Oskar? How're the dogs?"
"The black one has been a little nippy." The German veterinarian grunted without hesitation.
Hogan perked up at the coded sentence. The dog handler had a message for him. "Ok, what's going on?" The colonel asked in a low voice.
"Can't talk." Oscar grunted again, much lower pitched this time. He crammed a piece of paper in Hogan's hand and went about his business.
Hogan was puzzled, but he knew that the pressure must really be on if Oscar couldn't talk to him. The American turned and walked nonchalantly back to the barracks, his men following him inside. Questions exploded once they had reached the semi-privacy of Hogan's quarters.
"What was that all about?"
"Didn't he have something for us, colonel?"
"What does the paper say?"
Colonel Hogan held up a hand for silence. "Give me a break guys. I only just got the message." The noise level dropped considerably. Hogan scanned the paper quickly, his expression going from concern, to astonishment, to anger. "I can't believe this." He said finally, smacking the paper.
"What is it?" Carter asked.
"It's a list of jobs the Underground needs for us to do. As soon as possible no less!" Hogan sounded exasperated. He handed the paper to Kinch.
"Why can't they do the work themselves?" LeBeau questioned, looking slightly indignant.
"A few of the key members of the Underground are under tight Gestapo surveillance." Hogan answered. "Everyone is lying low until the heat's off."
"So they expect us to go out and risk our necks?" Newkirk didn't sound any happier than LeBeau or Colonel Hogan. "We can't exactly just walk out the front gates, you know."
"What kind of jobs?" Of course, it was Carter wanting to know.
"Blowing up a bridge near Hammelburg. Destroying a supply station near the Heidelberg railway. And stealing some top secret stuff from Gestapo headquarters. Plus, they want us to meet them in the forest outside the wire to confirm." Kinch read off the paper. He looked up sharply. "Those targets are spread out over twenty-five miles. How do they expect us to cover that kind of distance?"
"If it had just been the first two, I might have been ok with it. But sneak into Gestapo headquarters? They think we can do it just like that, huh." Hogan scowled and crossed his arms. "Sometimes I think they take us for granted."
"Well, that's what you get for being the best at what you do." Carter pointed out, his face the picture of innocuous common sense. It earned him glares from all over the room.
"We've got three missions to accomplish, radio silence from London, and no help from the Underground." Hogan sighed. "Plus, there's a new man in camp who may or may not be a Japanese spy. I'm not sure we can take this one."
"So what are we going to do, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked.
"Well, there's one thing we can work on. Carter, Newkirk, start pumping the new man right away. His name is Edward White. Anything you can get on him will be helpful. Kinch and LeBeau, help out where you can. Meet me downstairs an hour after lunch." Hogan ordered.
"Right colonel." Newkirk said as he started for the door.
"Yes sir." Carter said simultaneously.
"And Carter," the colonel added as an afterthought. "Don't mention anything about being Japanese or ninjas."
"Ok, but if he pulls out one of those swords, I'm not taking any chances, boy let me tell you!" Carter said passionately.
Newkirk rolled his eyes and shoved his friend out the door.
At exactly thirteen-hundred hours, the group was again assembled, this time in the tunnel. By habit, they congregated in the radio room, even though the machine was silent. They were discussing what they had learned about the new prisoner.
"We put 'im through every trick we could think of." Newkirk was saying. "If 'e's not American, he's ruddy good at pretending to be."
"He said he lived in California when he was drafted." Carter added. "Lots of Japanese people live in California, you know." He was determined to stick by his theory.
"I know Carter." Hogan stared at his explosives expert.
"He doesn't speak German." LeBeau put in. "Or French." He made a face. To the dedicated Frenchman, anyone who didn't speak French was grossly undereducated.
"We even tried the spilling-hot-coffee test." Carter took up the report again.
"And?" Colonel Hogan waited.
"He said something in a different language alright." Carter answered triumphantly.
"But he said it quietly and none of us knew what kind of language it was." Kinch was quick to deflate that argument.
"Kinch, you're good with languages. Could it have been Japanese?" Hogan asked.
"Colonel, I can speak English, American, German, and a little French, but I wouldn't know Japanese if it hit me on the head." Kinch answered with a wry smile.
"I still say he's a Jap." Carter said stubbornly.
"Who's a Jap?" A voice came from the tunnel.
The men turned to find Angel entering the room, carrying a full pack on her back. She gave them all a broad grin as they greeted her with enthusiasm.
"What brings you to our happy little POW camp?" Hogan asked, leaning forward on the table.
"Supply delivery." Angel answered cheerfully. "I wasn't doing anything today and I figured I might as well bring in that load of stuff you asked for."
"Service is getting better these days." Hogan observed with a smile.
"Yup." Angel opened the back-pack and began pulling things out. "I've got needles and thread for Newkirk. Timers for Carter. Spare machinery parts for Kinch. And even some spices for LeBeau." She handed out each item as she was inventorying.
"Hey, that's great!" LeBeau said happily as he looked at the cooking supplies, his voice rising an octave in his enthusiasm.
"Plus a few other assorted goodies." Angel finished. She looked up in bewilderment. "Why does Olsen need an earring?"
"We don't ask." Hogan said, completely straight-faced.
"How come you're out and about?" Kinch directed the question at Angel. "I thought the Underground is in lock-down."
"In the city they are." Angel explained. "But no one pays attention to our little farm tucked away in the country. And since there are more soldiers in the cities, there are less patrols from me to avoid."
"Sneaky little scamp that you are." Newkirk teased her.
"Exactly." Angel gave a short, theatrical bow. "Anyway, not to be redundant or anything, but who's a Jap?"
"A new prisoner." Kinch answered. "We don't know whose side he's on."
"Yeah?" Angel looked intrigued. "What's he like?"
"Real quiet, from what I can tell. Keeps to himself." Kinch told her.
"Yeah, and he speaks another language and he talks kinda funny." Carter finished. "Some of the guys don't like to hang around him because he looks like a Japanese."
"That's no reason to avoid him." Kinch said sharply, drilling Carter with a look. "Just 'cause he's different doesn't mean he's not just as good as the next guy."
The tech sergeant wilted under Kinch's dark gaze. Coming from the Negro radioman, who understood what it was like to be scorned because of racial prejudice, that really was a rebuke. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Carter mumbled.
Kinch's face softened. "It's ok."
"I think you're both right." Angel interrupted. "I've met Japanese people in Alaska who were so loyal to their homeland that they wouldn't think twice about turning spy against America. On the other hand, there's some pretty great Japs fighting in our army. You sure can't beat 'em for dedication, one way or the other."
"Wait a minute." A few key words had caught Colonel Hogan's attention. "You actually know some Japanese people?"
Angel shrugged. "Well yeah. Alaska is closer to Japan than any other part of the US. We get Japanese fishing trawlers on the coasts sometimes."
"If you heard someone speaking Japanese, could you understand them?" Hogan continued, eyeing the girl critically.
"Um, no." Angel answered promptly. "I haven't had contact with that many Japs. And Japanese is an incredibly complex language."
"But you would recognize a Japanese person on sight?" The colonel persisted. "And maybe recognize a few Japanese words?"
Angel considered for a moment. "Yeah, I might be able to." She shrugged. "But my opinion is far less than professional."
"Right now, it's all we've got." Hogan said. "Alright, here's what we'll do…"