"I hold the world but as the world, Gatiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part . . . "
- W. Shakespeare

Originally published as a digest-sized zine in 1996. This is an amateur publication for the enjoyment of fans and in no way intends to infringe upon the privileges of the holders of copyrights, trademarks or other legal rights for the Hogan's Heroes universe.

Act One

Scene One

– One –

It was a cold day, overcast, nasty, in November of 1944. The location was a prisoner of war camp near the town of Hammelburg, not far from the city of Dusseldorf in western Germany.

Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer, walked across the compound of Stalag Luft 13 after lunch. Hogan, a tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties, glanced up at the sky. Probably start to snow later. Well, let's see what old Klink's up to. Might learn something interesting.

Hogan walked up the stairs leading to the Kommandant's office. Hilda, the camp secretary, wasn't at her desk. Pity. The beautiful girl brightened up the place.

Hogan knocked on the Kommandant's door and, as usual, walked in without waiting for a reply. Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the commandant of Stalag Luft 13, a tall, lean man with a receding hairline and a monocle on his left eye, was sitting at his desk, staring at a piece of paper.

"Afternoon, Kommandant!" Hogan said cheerfully.

Klink looked up slowly, very slowly.

"Nasty day, isn't it?" Hogan continued, oblivious to Klink's lack of response. "Should snow later on."

"What . . . Oh . . . " Klink made a visible effort to rouse himself. Then his eyes dropped to the paper again. "What . . . What do you want, Colonel Hogan?"

"Just dropped in for a chat," Hogan said. "But if you're busy?"

Klink failed to respond.

His strange behavior finally got through to Hogan. "Are you all right, Kommandant?" Hogan asked.

"You don't really care if I am or not, do you, Hogan?"

Hogan was taken aback by the toneless question. He fumbled uncharacteristically for a response. "I, uh — "

"Please," continued the weary voice, "don't bother to lie. No, all you see is the uniform. That's all the world ever sees — uniforms, targets, strategic missions. Not the people. No, never the people."

"Kommandant?" Klink was making Hogan decidedly uneasy.

"Colonel Hogan," the blue eyes turned to him, "for once, can you see past the uniform? Past the fact that I am a German, a man you probably despise, possibly hate? Past everything you assume about me?"

"I, uh . . . "

"Then, please, Colonel Hogan, leave. I am asking you as one man to another. Please, leave. Now."

"I . . . " Hogan was at a loss for words as he stared at Klink. Klink's eyes had dropped back to his desk; he looked surprisingly tired.

"Yes, sir," Hogan finally said. He walked to the door. "If you want anything . . . " But Klink had stopped listening to him. Hogan shook his head and left.

His men were waiting for him in his office, still listening in on the coffeepot that was the receiver for the bug in Klink's office.

"Hilda just came in; Klink sent her home," Corporal Peter Newkirk, an Englishman, reported.

"Yeah. And told Schultz he wasn't to be disturbed for any reason," Sergeant Andrew Carter, the American explosives expert, added.

"What's up, Colonel?" Sergeant James Kinchloe, a tall black man with a mustache, asked.

"I have no idea. I've never seen him like this before," Hogan admitted.

Glass clinked in Klink's office.

Sergeant Richard Baker, another black American, grinned. "Starting a little early, aren't we?" He started as the sound of shattering glass came from the office.

Then a sound they had never heard before. One that startled and even shocked them.

"Colonel," Corporal Louis LeBeau, a diminutive Frenchman, finally said. "Klink's . . . crying?"

Hogan looked unusually sober. "Turn it off."

It was dark, nearly time for lights out when Hogan walked across the compound to Klink's quarters. As Hogan had expected, it had started to snow — a good, steady snow. Klink stood on his porch, watching the snow. Or at least staring out at it.

"Evening, Kommandant," Hogan said. He really wasn't sure why he was here. But, for some reason, he felt he had to be.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's voice was neutral.

"Should get a few inches out of this," Hogan said conversationally.

Klink seemed to notice the snow for the first time. "Yes."

"When I was a kid, I loved it when it snowed like this," Hogan said after a while, just to end the silence. "My parents didn't."

"No." An odd voice. "Adults forget the wonder of it all too quickly."

Hogan was running out of things to say. "Uh, yeah." What the hell was he doing here anyway? Whatever Klink's problem was, it wasn't any of Hogan's concern. But Klink's behavior had gotten to him in a way he'd never expected. Annoyed with himself and Klink, Hogan prepared to leave.

"Do you know any children, Colonel Hogan?" Klink asked suddenly. "I mean, really know them?"

"No, can't say that I do." He glanced at Klink's sharp profile. "Do you?" This was the craziest conversation.

"Yes. Several. One was my younger sister."

"You have a sister?" Hogan knew little about Klink's family. Except for the odd bits of information he'd picked up, Hogan never bothered to learn about them. It wasn't important. Unless it fit in with a scheme of Hogan's, personal facts about Klink were never important.

"Yes. She is much younger than I. I was eighteen when she was born."

Hogan grinned. "Must have been a shock."

"Yes. A very pleasant one. She was such a beautiful child. Bright blue eyes, long blonde curls." Klink's voice had a quality in it Hogan had never heard before. "And she had a laugh that lifted your heart."

Hogan turned to watch Klink more closely.

"I wasn't home much, of course; I was already at the Academy. But whenever I did get home, she always would run out to greet me."

"And big brother doted on her."

A small smile. "Dote is an understatement. I adored her. She was everything I could never be — beautiful, lively, a joy to everyone. You won't believe it, Hogan, but she adored me too. I could do no wrong in her eyes."

Hogan hid his grin.

A wistful sigh from Klink. "As all children do, she grew up. Into a beautiful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, generous. All the young men were crazy about her. But no one was good enough for her. Until . . . "

"Until?" Hogan prompted, oddly reluctant to end Klink's reminiscing.

"Finally, someone was good enough for her. He comes from an excellent family; he is strong, handsome and gentle. He is a little older than she is. But he loves her. And she loves him."

"An officer?"

Klink shook his head. "By default only. He is a doctor. The kind all doctors should be. He really cares for his patients. It doesn't matter who you are, what you do, if you are sick or hurt, he will care for you. He really is worthy of Therese."

"Lovely name."

Klink nodded. "They married, and, in time, had a son. A little boy named Wilhelm."

Hogan was amused. "After the uncle?"

"Ridiculous, is it not, Colonel Hogan?"

"Oh, I don't — " Hogan began.

And was ignored. "Like his mother all over again. The same big blue eyes, the same blond curls. And a smile to melt your heart. Always running out to greet me whenever I could visit. All the innocence and joy of a child in one small boy. Everything was a cause for wonder — a flower, a snowflake. Everything and anything."

"Bet you can't wait to see him again," Hogan said brightly.

Klink's face lost all expression. "I will never see him again, Colonel Hogan." His voice had lost all feeling. "He was killed in an air raid earlier this week."

Stunned, Hogan stared at him.

"I received the letter today." Klink rubbed his eyes with a hand. "They call them strategic targets, Colonel Hogan. It doesn't matter if it is London or Tokyo or Berlin. Just points on a map," Klink continued in the same dead voice. "Someone far away decides it should no longer exist.

"I wonder how long wars would last if people really knew what they were destroying. Or do they even care? After all, what is so important about a five-year-old little boy compared to the ambitions and slogans of grown men?" Pain broke the deadness in his voice. "The only thing he ever did was bring joy to the people who loved him."

"Colonel," Hogan said in the darkness, "I don't know what to say."

A deep sigh. "There is nothing to say, Colonel Hogan. An accident of war. You know, you Americans are really very lucky. This, at least, does not touch you."

"I'm very sorry, Colonel Klink."

Something in his voice made Klink look at him. "Colonel, for the first time, I believe you mean it."

"Colonel, for the first time, I do."

The shiny eyes looked away. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan."

A long, oddly companionable silence. Then . . .

Klink roused himself. "Colonel Hogan, it is nearly time for lights out," Klink reminded him in that strangely neutral voice.

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Newkirk grinned as Hogan entered the barracks. "Well, Colonel, what's with old Klink?"

"Another girl jilt him?" LeBeau asked.

"Or maybe," Carter began flippantly.

"Knock it off!" Hogan ordered roughly and walked into his room.

Startled silence followed him.

Hogan sipped the remains of his cold coffee as his men filed in quietly and closed the door.

"Colonel," Kinch began, "we didn't mean anything by it."

"Yes, you did," Hogan retorted angrily. "And so did I. Klink's right. All we see is the uniform. Something to hate or poke fun at. Nothing real. Just an illusion."

"Colonel, what's wrong?" Kinch asked quietly.

"I found out what's wrong with Klink." Hogan stared into his coffee mug. "His five-year-old nephew was killed in an air raid earlier this week; he found out this morning."

"Klink? A nephew?" from Newkirk.

"Gosh," from Carter, "that's too bad."

"Tough luck," from Kinch. "But, Colonel, that's what happens in a war."

"That's what Klink said," Hogan said gloomily. "An accident of war. Where no one sees who gets hurt." He looked at his men. "But people do, don't they? Even five-year-old little boys."

"We don't make the rules, Colonel," Baker said.

"No, we don't."

"Colonel, something else is bothering you, isn't it?" Kinch observed.

"Yeah, there is," Hogan admitted. "For the first time, I saw Klink as a person. I mean, really saw him as a person. Someone who feels and can be hurt. We even had what might be called a real conversation. Up to now, he's been nothing more than a caricature in a uniform."

"Klink is a caricature," LeBeau said positively.

Hogan shook his head. "Not today, he wasn't. He seemed different somehow. I don't know. It's as though what we see everyday isn't really him."

"There could be another explanation, Colonel," Kinch said quietly.

Hogan looked at him.

"Like you said, for the first time, you saw Klink as a person. Maybe that's what's spooking you," Kinch said. "Maybe you, we, don't want to. It might make things harder for us. I mean we use him all the time."

Hogan nodded. "Yes, I do, don't I?" he said softly. A long pause. Then, "Like the man said, an accident of war."

"If it'll help, Colonel," Newkirk said, not quite understanding Hogan's concern, "think of all the kids they murdered. You don't see him caring about them, do you?"

Hogan shook his head. "Guess not." Then he roused himself. "Time for lights out in a minute," he said. "You'd better hurry up."

Good nights sounded from his men.

"Good night," he echoed as the door closed behind them.

Hogan put his cup down and pulled off his jacket. Undoing his tie, he walked to the window and opened the shutter for a moment. Lights were going down around the compound, except in Klink's quarters. He closed the shutters tightly, for a moment wondering if Klink would get any sleep tonight.

Then he shrugged. Getting sentimental in his old age, that's what it was. Nothing more.

He didn't want to think what else it might be. He didn't want to think about how things seemed to be getting better between Klink and him. Better since that day after Hogan had again bested Klink, though, of course, Klink didn't know it. The day after that Gestapo major had left, after clearing Hogan of a sabotage job(1), which of course, he had done. Klink had laughingly told Hogan about it. Hogan, naturally, was outraged, managing to get an undeserved apology out of Klink. Then came Klink's startling, spontaneous comment that he "liked" Hogan. Oddly, Hogan had been pleased by the comment. Not that it mattered what an idiot like Klink thought of him. But it had pleased him.

Weird. Why should he care what Klink thought? He never had, never in all this time. Then again, why shouldn't Klink like him? After all, he was a likable fellow. Unlike Klink.

Poor Klink. He really was a fool. A naive fool. Not realizing what a perfect tool he was. So easy to manipulate, to use. So easy to get rid of. He almost felt sorry for Klink. He almost . . .

A cold wave washed over him. No. He felt nothing for Klink. Nothing but contempt.

Nothing . . .

1 "Hogan's Double Life"