Hogan's Heroes and the Phil Silvers Show (also titled "You'll Never Get Rich" and "Sergeant Bilko") belong to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.
BILKO!
"Tomorrow," Private Ernie Bilko said as he expertly dealt the cards, "Tomorrow is Saturday."
"So?" Newkirk yawned. "What's so important about Saturday?" Except for that raid on the new ammo dump. But how could this guy know anything about that?
"You don't know?" the balding POW snickered. "Saturday night is poker night." He had a live one here. Nothing like a friendly card game to reel in an unsuspecting fish. After all, what did a Limey know about poker?
Newkirk adopted a mask of indifference. "Poker? Isn't that the game where four of a kind always wins? Tried playing it once but it didn't make any sense to me. Too many different combinations to remember. I like my card games a bit more civilized. Now, anyone for Gin?'
Bilko, too intent on his cards, didn't notice Carter trying more or less successfully to choke back a laugh. Newkirk was the best card sharp in Stalag 13! Maybe the best in all the Luftstalags. This new guy didn't have a chance.
The cards dealt, Bilko studied his opponent. Gin wasn't the private's game, but he'd learned the rules – and some of the tricks – in England. Newkirk obviously knew the game, but he was a careless player. Bilko easily won the first game. He never realized Newkirk was leading him on, feeling him out. He never saw LeBeau's knowing wink.
Hogan watched the game for a while, then motioned for Kinch to join him in the small office. 'What do we know about this guy?" The inevitable question.
"He's just what he says he is," the radioman answered. "Comes from Queens, got drafted and was assigned to the motor pool at a base in Britain. Decided he wanted to fly so he talked a buddy into letting him come aboard for a bombing run. They got shot down and he wound up here. A couple of guys in Barracks 7 knew him back in England ..." His voice faded off.
Hogan noted the hesitation. "What else?"
"He's gonna be a problem. He knows engines, but he also knows cards. Seems he ran quite a back room casino operation. Of course, the house always came out on top. He's also got a reputation as a con man, always looks for an easy way to make money or to get out of work. He's been reprimanded a few times for some of his schemes."
The Colonel smiled. "Sounds like someone we know. Maybe we can use him for something. He's in Barracks 5, isn't he?"
"I'd rather send him back to England," Kinch shrugged. "Even if we do have a 'no escape' policy. He's more likely to be trouble."
"Then let's make sure it's trouble for the Germans."
o-o-o-o-o
Bilko stretched comfortably in his bunk. It had been a lucrative – make that a very lucrative – day. Word had gotten around the camp grapevine about his impromptu Saturday poker game and men had come from every barracks, that is, every barracks except Barracks 2. Only one guy, someone named Olsen, had shown up from there. Must have been the fault of that straight-laced Colonel Hogan. Officers! They have no sense of fun! He'd love to have taken on that rookie Newkirk. No, make that taken him for every cigarette and chocolate bar in his next Red Cross Package. Maybe next time! He indulged in a satisfied yawn, rolled over, and promptly fell asleep, dreams of future riches dancing in his head.
The crash of a massive explosion shattered the private's dreams as the night sky lit up like a New York fireworks display on the Fourth of July. Eyes wide, body shaking, he sat up ramrod straight on his bunk. Bombing raid? He'd heard no planes flying overhead, so where had the explosion come from? And would there be more? There were no bomb shelters in Stalag 13!
A final explosion, louder? closer? than the rest. Bilko's surprised yelp sounded like the squeak of a dozen mice. He looked around. Why was he the only one surprised, awake, scared? He padded to a neighboring bunk and shook its occupant.
"Explosion! B-bomb!" He barely managed to stammer out the words.
"Go back to sleep or at least pretend you're sleeping!" the other POW growled. "NOW!" Bilko went.
He'd barely climbed into the bunk when the door slammed open The loud, angry "Raus! Raus!" sent the men scrambling into formation. A quick count: all present. Similar orders echoing through the camp indicated a camp-wide head count. Sabotage! Bilko realized. But how? He'd have to worm out an explanation later. As he crawled under the thin blanket, he heard a chorus of snores. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come.
o-o-o-o-o
"Schultzie, can't you let a man sleep?" Newkirk growled as the big guard entered the barracks, calling "Roll Call! Achtung!"
"What's going on?" a pajama-clad Hogan questioned sleepily as he wandered into the main room. "Why the 3 A.M visit? Roll call's not for another four hours."
"No monkey business, Colonel Hogan. Please tell me you haven't been up to any monkey business?"
"How could we be up to monkey business?" Newkirk retorted. "We're trying to get our beauty sleep here!"
"Why aren't you getting yours?" a sleepy Carter yawned. As if I didn't know!
"You boys didn't hear the big e-x-p-l-o-s-i-o-n?" Schultz dragged the word out for emphasis. "An ammo dump blew up!"
"As long as it was one of yours." LeBeau snickered.
"An Allied raid?" Hogan was the picture of innocence. "I didn't hear any planes."
The big guard shook his head. "Underground saboteurs," he whispered. "You know what that means . . ."
A chorus of voices answered. "Major Hochstetter."
o-o-o-o-o
Tension. Like the air just before a thunderstorm. That was the only way Bilko could describe the feeling in the barracks. He'd seen the staff car drive in and watched its black-clad driver storm into the Kommandantur.
"Hochstetter. Gestapo," one of his barracks mates muttered. "That means trouble."
Bilko joined some of the other POWs out in the yard, watching as the rotund Sergeant of the Guard headed for Barracks 2, only to return a few minutes later followed by a sauntering Colonel Hogan. Bilko studied the senior POW officer. There's some kind of con game going on here. Got to find out what. Might be something in it for me. He wandered over to Hogan's barracks. He'd try talking to that Sergeant Carter. The man didn't seem too bright. An easy mark.
o-o-o-o-o
"You wanted to see me, Kommandant? Hogan smirked. Then, "Sorry, Major Hochstetter. I didn't see you come in. Always glad to see our friendly neighborhood Gestapo. So what can I do for you?"
"HOGAN . . ." Klink began, only to be interrupted by a seething Major Hochstetter.
"The new ammo dump was blown up last night, Hogan. You are responsible. I have you now, Papa Bear!"
"Papa Bear?" the POW questioned. "My men and I were asleep in the barracks when that explosion woke us up. You can ask Sergeant Schultz. You wouldn't doubt the word of a loyal member of the German military, would you?"
"BAH!" Hochstetter routinely questioned everyone's loyalty, except for his own, that is. "I will be watching you closely!" He left a dumbfounded Klink and a grinning Hogan standing in the office and slammed the door on his way out.
"Ya know, Kommandant," Hogan reached for one of Klink's cigars, "We're prisoners in the most secure camp in all of Germany under the Iron Colonel. Everyone knows there hasn't been a successful escape from Stalag 13. Ever! Even the Escape Committee is discouraged. I'm surprised the High Command hasn't promoted you to General already."
Klink preened. This was as good an opening as any. "Colonel Hogan, I am expecting important guests in a few days. I want you and your men to prepare some entertainment for them. And perhaps LeBeau could offer one of his gourmet dinners."
Must be really important. He's practically begging. "Only if you give us an extra hour of electricity every night for a week and white bread on Sundays."
"Thirty extra minutes for a week. And you can have the white bread."
"I'll take it. Who are we entertaining?"
"Dr. Gregor Ramshornn. And General Burkhalter."
"Ramshornn," Hogan mused. "Isn't he that rocket scientist who developed the guidance system for the V-2? You Germans are way ahead of us."
"He's been working on an improved version. He's on his way to Berlin with the plans." Flattery would get you anywhere with the Iron Colonel.
And we're gonna get a copy for London! "Want us to put on a show? You could play the violin."
"He's a poker player, Hogan. No taste in music. Perhaps a friendly game?"
"I have just the man." Bilko!
o-o-o-o-o
"Hey, Carter, missed you yesterday at the poker game! The Colonel won't let you guys play cards with a real expert?"
Carter finished hanging his laundry as he answered. "I had something else to do." Like blowing up an ammo dump!
"In a prison camp?" Bilko was certain something was going on here, but what? There wasn't that much to do in a prison camp!
Kinch came to the younger man's rescue. "Better be careful with those poker games, Bilko. Some of those guards aren't tame. You wouldn't like a week in the cooler." There was just the right amount of menace in the communications expert's voice.
Hogan's return put an end to the conversation. He nodded in dismissal to the private and motioned his men into the barracks.
"Kinch, call London and get anything you can on Dr. Gregor Ramshornn. He's coming here in a couple of days and bringing plans for a new guidance system. He'll probably leave them in Klink's safe. Newkirk, I'll need you to open it and photograph 'em."
"Piece of cake, Colonel!"
"LeBeau . . ."
"I know, Mon Colonel, a gourmet dinner."
"Carter, you'll help LeBeau serve. And for the evening's entertainment . . ."
"We can put on a show!" the enthusiastic Carter broke in.
"Sorry, Carter," Hogan smiled. "Ramshornn is quite fond of poker. We'll turn the Rec Hall into a card parlor, proceeds going to the Winter Fund. Klink can invite the CO's from some of the neighboring Stalags."
"Pardon me, Guv'nor," Newkirk queried, "But if I'm cracking the safe, who's running the game?"
"Why, our neighborhood card sharp. Private Ernie Bilko! 'Course, he'll never know he's the cover for our operation."
The men laughed.
o-o-o-o-o
"Excellent dinner, Klink." Burkhalter patted his lips with one of Klink's best linen napkins. "Perhaps your chef would like to join my staff."
"Indeed," Ramshornn added. "But where did you find such an inspired cook? It is almost like being in one of the finest restaurants in Paris."
"LeBeau is one of our POWs," Klink replied. "Colonel Hogan allows us to use his services occasionally. Isn't that right, Colonel?" At Hogan's nod, he continued, "Now, gentlemen, may I offer you brandy and cigars?"
Hogan stood and nodded too the other men. "None for me, thank you. I need to take my men back to the Rec Hall. With Colonel Klink's permission, we've prepared a little diversion. It seems you enjoy poker, Doctor. One of our POWs is an expert at the game and he and our better players have set up a tournament in support of the Winter Fund for you and a few officers from surrounding camps. We'd be honored if you'd join us."
Ramshornn couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "I learned the game several years ago and am myself considered something of an expert. I accept the invitation and the challenge with pleasure!"
o-o-o-o-o
Bilko was in his element. Cards, poker chips, even green eye shades for the dealers, everything was perfect. Yes, the Colonel had warned him – several times – about cheating, but Bilko still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Ernie, this could be your day! He'd had the guys set up, with the Kommandant's permission, a few other games: roulette, dice, Gin. even a Bridge table, a game he considered supremely boring, but Hogan had mentioned that some of the visiting officers were avid players. Oh, well, orders are orders. Hopefully, he'd even get in a few hands with that Corporal Newkirk. He had the notion there was more to that guy than what showed on the surface.
"All ready, Bilko?" Kinch questioned as he helped LeBeau set out trays of hors d'oeuvres. Newkirk was trying out the roulette wheel while Carter attempted to roll a lucky 7 with the dice. Several other POWs joined them along with Sergeant Schultz and the Colonel. Hogan nodded his approval. If everything went well, those plans would be on their way to London tomorrow.
Klink ushered his guests into Stalag 13's version of Monte Carlo, only to be greeted by a lovely blonde hostess. "Fraulein Hilda!" the surprised Kommandant stuttered. "What are you doing here?"
"Monte Carlo needs a hostess," she replied. "Colonel Hogan asked if some of my friends and I could help out." She gave Burkhalter a winning smile. "And for such distinguished and handsome officers . . ." Burkhalter took her arm and led her to the roulette table where they were joined by several visiting officers. Hogan would owe her a dozen pairs of nylons and some Cadbury's chocolate for this one!
Klink, Ramshornn and Hogan joined Bilko at the poker table. Sergeant Schultz invited himself into the group noting that he liked the game and hoped to go to Las Vegas someday. "After we win the war, of course."
Bilko allowed Ramshornn to win the first couple of hands – small stakes of course - then suggested they raise the ante to "make things more interesting." And make them go my way.
Hogan won that hand then excused himself. "A good host mingles with the guests," he explained. "Have fun!"
He wandered around the room, checking on his men. He motioned Newkirk over. "We're gonna need more poker chips. I'll have Klink send you over to the barracks for some. You know what to do."
"Right, Guv'nor. Like I said, piece of cake."
As the poker game progressed, Bilko realized that Ramshornn was no amateur The private played more carefully, watching for his opponent's tells, as he suspected the scientist was also doing. No aces up the sleeve this time, just solid poker. Klink and Schultz had long since dropped out. A small crowd gathered around the two players to watch the intense game. The stakes grew ever higher, the piles of chips ever larger. It was no longer just a game; it was an all or nothing competition. Winner take all – and Bilko intended to win!
Hogan noticed Newkirk joining the observers. A barely noticeable "thumbs up" signaled a successful mission. Both men turned their attention to the game. Bilko called it. He held four kings, an excellent hand. He spread his cards on the table. Ramshornn showed three tens. "I seldom lose," he commented, "But tonight I have lost to an expert. And now I must retire as I still have a long drive to Berlin tomorrow." He bowed to his opponent. "Perhaps someday you will allow me a rematch?"
"Any time," Bilko grinned as he reached for his opponent's chips. This was indeed his lucky day.
"Too bad you can't keep your winnings," Burkhalter interrupted, his arm around Hilda's waist. "Tonight's proceeds go to the Winter Fund. Dr. Ramshornn, thank you for your very generous contribution." He turned to his lovely companion, "Now, my dear, perhaps you would join me in my quarters for a brandy?" Fraulein Hilda begged off. Make that two dozen pairs of nylons, Colonel!
Bilko wiped away a tear. My lucky day, my lucky day. Ruined.
o-o-o-o-o
Bilko wandered into Barracks 2 a few days later. His objective: Corporal Newkirk. He ambled over to his target. "We never got that poker game," he challenged.
"You sure you're up to it, Mate?" the Cockney replied as he slapped the other man on the shoulder. "How about now?"
"Watch and learn." Bilko dealt the cards as Hogan and the rest of the team gathered around. Once again, the piles of chips were even. Newkirk called the hand as he spread his cards.
"Royal flush!"
Bilko knew he'd met his match.
o-o-o-o-o
Note: The Phil Silvers Show ran from 1956-1959. It was considered one of the top comedies of its day and set a pattern for other service comedies, especially McHale's Navy.