A/N: A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse, written to fill the Short Story Challenge, that got a little out of hand and grew with the telling - A Tale of Faerie, where Klink has the real Hob for a Fairy Godfather, Hogan becomes Cinderella for a night, and Klink takes Hogan dancing.
As per usual, many many thanks to Kat, Wolfie and Snooky for being ace betas, and I would also like to thank Tirathon for a little advice about old sayings.
And as per usual, the Colonel & gang are not mine, but belong to the originators of Hogan's Heroes, and CBS and I claim nothing but the OCs and the prose.
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Prologue – Or, How Did I Get Roped Into This?

Colonel Robert E. Hogan was staring at a blank sheet of paper. He was the last one in Barracks Two to get started on his short story, and some of the others had even finished. Lebeau had a funny one about a recipe gone wrong, Newkirk about an amazing card game he'd dealt for, Kinch about cars and Detroit, Carter about his pets Felix and Hasenpfeffer, even Garlotti had one about the funny things you find up on the roof when you're fixing it.

Everyone had something done but him!

On top of that, it was almost Klink's birthday, and this year, this time, he needed an actual gift, and not a decoy for some scheme or other.

Darn it, he doesn't have time for all this! He could use someone to bat ideas off of. Maybe he could dictate it to Hilda? They could flirt, kiss.
His eyes were on the list of prompts and as he thought the word 'kiss' he realized that he had his story.

Unfortunately, Hilda was not helping him with this one...
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A Fairy Tale, by Col. Robert E. Hogan

Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.

London had given us a mission; meet a member of the Underground and get from her a micro film of the plans for the newest version of the V2 rocket. Simple and straight forward, right?

Riiiiight.

Nothing we ever do is simple and straight forward. First off, we had half a dozen guys from Stalag 5 waiting to be shipped out, and the sub connection had to be made in two days time... In two days time, the good ol' Adolf Hitler Bridge needed blowing up again to stop a munitions convoy from getting to the Russian Front...

Which, of course, was the same night that we had to meet this contact, someone so high up the totem pole London insisted I be the one to contact her.

When I let London know about our scheduling conflict, they brushed it off and said that I had the easy part, and didn't I have enough experienced operatives to do all three jobs?

I went back to tell the fellas the good news, and it went just about how I expected:

"Wot didja expect, Guv? London ruddy wishes, and we obey, no matter how bleedin' crackers it gets 'round 'ere!"

"But of course! They do not have to do the work! It would serve them right if we refused to 'volunteer' this time, we have not had a break in days!"

"Well I vote if we put anything off, it NOT be the bridge, I've got some real beauties stacked up just for the occasion, and with it being a munitions convoy we'll be able to use the trucks themselves to help blow the bridge. It saves time and it's economical!"

"Colonel, Olsen's in tonight, and Mills has been doing well."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, good idea Kinch. LeBeau, go get Mills, Olsen and Baker down here, will ya?"

"Toute suite mon Colonel." It took only a few minutes for the men to come down to the radio room: "You wanted to see us, Colonel?" asked Olsen.

"Men, the war's getting busy, and we're going to need a few extra hands for more outside missions. In two nights we're gonna blow the Adolf Hitler Bridge..."

"Again?" moaned Mills.

"Yes, again! Mills, you just don't appreciate German efficiency...we blow it up, they rebuild. It's called 'job security'. "

The men present chuckled and I continued: "Now while Carter, Newkirk, Mills and Olsen take care of the convoy, and by the way, Newkirk, you're in charge there, Kinch and LeBeau will take our guests out the back way and rendezvous with the sub, while I go and meet the Underground agent in Düsseldorf."

"What's so special about this agent, Sir?" queried Olsen.

"I'm not really sure. Except that she's got access to some really high level stuff, and she needs a favor. Plus, her husband is insanely jealous, so only another woman can get near enough so he doesn't cause a scene. Snow White is her normal contact, but Hochstetter has been haunting the Hofbrauhaus and she doesn't want to compromise the mission by making him curious about her routine. So Newkirk, find me some nice size 11s, those red pumps you wore at Burkhalter's last party maybe? And lessons, lots of lessons, on walking in heels."

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Two days later, we were ready.

It was half an hour after the last roll call; normally we'd wait longer, just to be on the safe side, but that night our favorite fink was away on a weekend pass back home, so we knew that his second, Capt. Grueber, would do only the minimum required.

Newkirk and his group went first; it would take them longest to get into position, to set the charges, to make sure the convoy went up as planned.

Kinch and LeBeau took the 'travelers' next; timed correctly, the explosion and fire in the distance would send all the patrols in the area running, away from their regular routes and away from the rendezvous point.

I was the last to leave. Unlike the others, I didn't go out the emergency tunnel. For once, I wasn't walking the 20 minutes into town, or meeting up with one of the townspeople for a ride. Nope, I was leaving in style. Langenscheidt had orders to pick up Klink in Düsseldorf; I'd sneak into the back seat, and Karl would save me the trip in. Then after I'd done, I would sneak back into the car and pull the latch, (which releases the panel under the seat). I could roll in and then Klink could sit right on top of me while Hochstetter checked out the trunk, and neither the wiser. Then, I get out from the trunk, or the back seat, either way.

Another fun way to make Hochstetter mad.

(Knew you'd like that.)

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I was scheduled to meet my contact at the local Rathskeller. A local boy made good was being honored for bravery, and so a bunch of his friends were celebrating the promotion, including my contact's hubby. I was wearing a dark pageboy wig, my black turtleneck, with a plaid woolen skirt, a silver clutch purse with chain strap to complete the look, but decided to forget the pumps and go with flats for the evening. I couldn't have a date with me, and I'm already taller than average. I didn't need to stand out any more.

First thing I noticed when I walk into the place? Good thing I'd gone with the flats; I was already seeing over the heads of half the men there.

The second thing I noticed was that the party was in full swing and the guys were getting rowdy; I'd have to watch myself around these Krauts...one drunken letch, and game over.

I made my way over to the bar and ordered white wine. I grabbed and paid for the drink and started to mingle, clutch dangling at my wrist. I was looking for a young blond (who wasn't) with a mockingbird pin on her dress. Me? I had a very gaudy jaybird pinned to my shoulder, and we had some pretty inane lines to say, but at least the code was so random that there would be no way that I'd accidentally start the conversation with the wrong person. The place was packed; there was what passed for a band, (a very good violinist and a decent guitar). I could see a beat up drum kit, hidden in the back of the band stage, and I smiled. I could show these folks something alright. It felt so good last year to pick up those sticks and play! Even if all I was trying to do was start an avalanche. I started to wonder if the other musicians would mind if I sat in on their jam, but that was a bust of an idea from the get go. A girl drummer would stand out far too much, this wasn't "Fanfare d'Amour" after all. I turned away and started looking for my contact again.

I walked to a table nearest the kitchen: it wasn't my best idea, (too busy, too loud, too much movement behind and to the side) but I needed to be able to see most of the room and yet not be too close to the party boys, who were starting to hit on anything in a skirt. I stayed where I was, since I had a hunch her husband would be dragging my contact out of the press of the crowd any minute (and I always play my hunches). Another minute, and bingo, there was a Heer officer, a Lieutenant from the markings, his left arm clutched around a pretty blond with a wedding ring and an obnoxiously sparkling cloak pin that looked more like a roasted pigeon than a mockingbird.

From there it was easy. I got up and casually walked in the general direction of the front of the place, and let the crowd do the rest.

It went almost too well; amazing how far a spray of wine can project when you get bumped by a drunken lout.

While her husband was berating the unfortunate and rapidly sobering non-com who 'bumped' me, my contact, (Rose Red) and I made our way over to the ladies' room and while I was finding towels to remove the stain and dry the skirt, (and incidentally, check for bugs) I started the code (in German of course):

"That is a lovely pin you are wearing."

"Ah, yes? This is a mockingbird or so I am told. Yours?"

"A jaybird."

"What do you think they would call a crossbreed?" she asked with a small smile, almost sure of me.

"A mocking jay. And who comes up with this script?" I was almost serious, I mean has the OSS hired Hollywood hacks to come up with this stuff?

Either way, I got a soft laugh out of her, and she handed me a compact: "Here, you may wish to freshen up before we go. Please keep it, as a favor."

"Speaking of which?"

"Ahh yes. My favor. Papa Bear, you must tell London that Von Braun is being watched too closely to risk moving before the Allies are in the area. The SS has orders to murder them all rather than let them fall into Allied hands. But Von Braun has convinced his keepers that he is loyal and too important to kill, and my father has assured his life in so far as that can be done. The man is smart enough to avoid being killed by our own people and he has hidden the bulk of the plans, the location to be revealed in the film you now have. There are also the locations of the only suitable places for the rocket program to be, so that he and his team can be rescued. There is more that I dare not even mention, but it is all in the film. Which brings me to the last, the favor."

That young woman looked me dead in the eyes and said: "Tell London that they would do well to spare the life of Albert Speer. He is a good man, but a good man who saw too little and too late. Now, even if he wished to, he cannot defect. He cannot leave. He says that he is all that stands between everyone and Ragnarok."

"Why do you care about Speer?" I already thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure.

"He's my father. But what I have said is true! He is the last man that Hitler trusts completely. All others are suspect. One minute, der Fuhrer is a cultured artist who loves children; the next a frothing lunatic, and always, always evil. But even in his worst rages, der Fuhrer will listen to my father and sometimes moderate his positions or allow my father to work towards a different end. Frankly, he is the only man to have ever said: "The Fuhrer can kiss my ass!" in front of witnesses and live.

"Yet even now, when it is clear to an imbecile that the Third Reich is dying, Goebbels and his cronies wish to fight to the last drop of others' blood, Göring wants to keep his ill-gotten fortune as head of state, Himmler the same, and not a decent man among them. They would all sell their grandmothers to the Devil if it brought them more wealth, more power. My father now only wishes to stop this madness and he can only do so if he is there to stop it.

"So, please, Papa Bear, I ask only for my father's life, and that he be tried by the Western Allies, where he will not be tortured, but treated humanely. He will cooperate fully with the Allies, tell them everything he knows. Meanwhile, he is distracting those who would order a million innocents to remain trapped behind Soviet lines, so that the German Navy can continue to evacuate as many as possible. He is trying to get food, medicine and other basic supplies to the millions who are running away from one battle to face another, with only the clothes on their backs. My father knows that no matter what good he does from now until his life's end will never be enough. He cannot bring back the dead. But he can keep the others from adding more bricks to the wall."

I understood now why London wanted me to go; the decision to pass the request on had the added catch of a recommendation: should we even think of taking the death penalty off the table, no matter how much information he gives or how sorry he says he is? If they're smart, the Nazi leaders are all going to say what great humanitarians they are and that it's all Hitler's fault. But, if what she says is true, then Speer is doing what can be done to stop the war and save lives, when he could be looking out for his own neck. He's confessing and coming clean before he's caught red-handed. That's the difference.

"Rose Red, I'm sorry for you, sorry for your family. I can't make any guarantees; there are too many 'ifs' and 'maybes' for that. But I do think you aren't lying to me, so I'll pass on every word you said to London. If his story checks out, I'll recommend that we follow through and take the death penalty off the table. But he still goes to trial, and he'll have to do real jail time - no country club - 20 years to life in solitary, most likely."

"That is all I can ask. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, we've a long way to go, and anything can happen." I looked down at her skirt, "The stain's mostly out, so we can go back in now. I'll walk you back to your husband, and tell him that you're tired and want to leave now, before some other guy spills his drink on you. That should get him moving. Then I can leave after. Good luck."

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I'd seen her off, her husband none the wiser, the compact in a secret pocket of the waist band of my skirt. Too risky to leave it in the clutch, which already held my forged identity papers and a few real marks. I knew it would look too suspicious if I ran straight out, so I ordered a beer and sat back down at that undesirable table, looking for all the world like I'd been stood up.

My eyes were roaming the room and I was keeping tabs on the SS guys at the bar, and trying not to make eye contact with any of the men there. I guess I can be forgiven if I missed it. I mean, I can't have eyes in the back of my head...I'm not my mom.

Well, like I was saying, I was keeping the eyes I do have peeled for all kinds of trouble. Except for the last kind that showed up.

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So I was just sitting there, not making any trouble, just minding my own business, when I felt a presence near me. But that didn't bother me. There were so many people there, and I can usually sense hostility or belligerence.

This was nothing like that. It was quiet. Gentle. Waiting.

Belonging.

A presence that belonged there, right there, next to me.

I thought it was a waiter. I turned my head, put on a polite smile and saw an elegant hand, extended, offering. Puzzled, my eyes traveled up. I saw the uniform first.

Luftwaffe.

Colonel.

Medals, all from the last war, but they were a bit impressive. An Iron Cross, 1st Class? Hard to tell, it seemed to be hiding behind the buttons...whoa, there's a Pour Le Merite too, not too shabby.

My eyes swept up a little farther... I was about to ask if there was something that I could do for the gentleman when my gaze locked his.

All I saw was his eyes.

They were blue.

Like the color of my mom's favorite china pattern.

'Prussian blue' she called it.

I've always liked that color.

Job, mission, get it together Rob! I mentally slapped myself. What the heck was wrong with me?

I blinked and smiled, hoping the disorientation looked like disinterest, and I tried to say something vague and pleasant.

And for the second time that night, I was speechless.

I swear I wasn't drunk. I hadn't done more than wet my lips on the wine, and I hadn't had a swallow of beer yet.

I definitely wasn't drunk.

I swear.

So, what happened, whatever it was, was real.

Because I was staring straight into the face of my favorite fink, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink. Into the face of a man I had seen every single day for over two years.

And I had no idea who this man before me was.

For one thing, he was younger. Decades younger. Looked like he hadn't a care in the world.

And he was taller. Much taller. Usually, Klink slouches. Except, once in a while, around me. And only when we're both in on the joke. Doesn't happen often. But it does happen.

Then, most of all, his smile.

He smiled.

Now, I've seen Klink's smile. All of them. Everything from his little nasty 'I've got you now, Hogan' to his 'but a man has needs, my dear'. And the smile I see most often is that forced smile that he wears whenever he's got to deal with Hochstetter, Burkhalter, well, pretty much every Nazi that walks in his office.

Guess I haven't seen a thing, because if this is Klink's real smile? Never seen that before! No, I'm wrong, I have seen that before; my Dad smiled like that at my Mom the last time he asked her to dance at their 25th wedding bash. Like he'd just seen everything he'd always wanted, and had everything he'd ever need, right there in front of him.

And that smile, Klink's smile?

It transformed his face; it transformed him.

So, instead of ol' Blood n' Guts Klink, a man who even on a good day looks like a dead mackerel (or like our uniform detailer Private Maddy Hill says, 'an enraged koala') a man with a perfect record and an efficiency rating 'just above miserable', who'd cringe at anybody who shouted loud enough? I was faced with a handsome, gentle, yet confident officer who just knew that I would agree to take his hand, not because he was making me, but because I would want to.

And I wanted to.

So I did.

I took the proffered hand, and as he shook it, he introduced himself:

"Fraulein, my name is Wilhelm Klink, and I would be very much grateful if you would join me in a dance."

"Umm ahh errr." Please note how suave and articulate I am right about now.

"There is no need to fear, my dear Fraulein. No harm will come to you, and I am very good dancer. You have only to follow my lead."

He brought my hand to his mouth to be kissed, and for once, I was trying to be helpful by lifting my hand up and if he hadn't been holding on, I would have accidentally smacked him in the jaw.

His smile became a grin: "It's very kind of you to help, but allow me to do the work tonight."

He pulled me to my feet; it was a wonder that my legs didn't give out. Klink added: "I do hope you like the song, I asked the musicians to play it, just for you."

"For me?" I barely squeaked out.

Another one of those smiles and the music started.

I knew the tune. The words, too. It's one of the sweetest songs I've ever heard, and a favorite (even if most of the fellas used to tease me for liking something so mushy).

We started to dance, but I kept banging into him, kept trying to lead. "Dear Fraulein, I know you have no reason to trust me, but have a bit of faith! I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity." Somehow, I started to relax. To trust.

We started to waltz. Klink didn't lie. He's terrific at cutting a rug. I felt like I was floating, the dance seemed so effortless.

It may be a cliché, but it happens to be true; the more we danced, the more it felt like we were the only two in the room.

Maybe the only two in the world.

He brought his lips very close to my ear, and began to whisper sing the chorus. His voice, so rich and sensual, gave me the shivers.

So, I had to sing back in self-defense. I smiled when I felt him shake in my arms. Take that, Kommandant! I thought.

The music stopped, and we were standing there, smirking like a couple of teenagers, when we heard it.

Applause. Shouts of "Bravo" and "Encore".

They weren't shouting for the musicians; they were shouting their praises for us.

We were a hit.

And for the spy trying to be inconspicuous, this was not good.

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This was really not good.

There I was, the famously infamous Papa Bear, grand-master of getting into and out of tight jams...and I had nothing.

And it was right about now that I realized that I had slipped out of the real world and into a fairy tale.

Because for once, I didn't know what to do, but Klink did.

"A round of drink for the house! Musicians, again if you please!" He bowed slightly to the audience, I pulled off a little dip curtsy (yeah, one of those little half-assed bobs that the Catholic school girls do when the teacher's aide walks in, instead of the full flourish like when the Mother Superior shows up), the music started and this time, Fred and Ginger had nothing on us.

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I couldn't believe it.

I just could NOT believe it.

Oh, and did I mention that I couldn't believe it?

Klink had gotten us out of a huge jam.

And he wasn't done yet!

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He'd paid for the round and while the crowd pressed forward for their free drinks, we were allowed to leave without a second glance.

We were almost out of the bar when a drunken SS Captain turned too quickly and nailed my left foot hard.

It wouldn't have been so bad; just an accident, right? But my whole leg throbbed from the impact and I could barely hobble, when the half-wit thought he was a whole one and laughed: "Now Fraulein, a big girl like you had best watch where you put your feet!"

Now you know Klink right? Normally, you look at him funny and he folds like a cheap suit. Normally, he'd spook, cringe, and drag himself out of there.

Normally.

And for once, I was all for letting that bozo get his laugh at our expense when I heard...

"Apologize."

One minute, I'd been looking at that s.o.b.; the next, the back of Klink's head. Took a sec to realize that the speaker was Klink; for once, he sounded like a real officer.

A really angry one.

This couldn't be happening! Why o, why did Klink - of all people - have to grow a pair now?

I was ready to put a stop to this, to become the clingy, mousy girlfriend who 'doesn't want any trouble', half way to putting my hand on his arm...when I opened my eyes a little wider, and saw... a bully. A drunken bully surrounded by equally drunken 'friends'; a bully who needed to score points. A bully right on the knife edge between 'happy to scare the weaklings away' and 'happy to scare the weakling and take his girl away'. Anything that would draw attention to me, to his 'audience', would tip him the wrong way.

And somehow, Klink knew the only effective way to deal with a guy like that.

Stand up to him.

So he did.

The lout was smiling a too wide smile and started saying: "To whom? That co"

"Apologize!"

An order.

An order from a superior officer.

An order from an extremely angry 'when I get done with you, you're gonna wish you were at the Russian Front' superior officer.

An order delivered hard and soft, with such subtle menace, that I was cringing.

Damn!

The man's Prussian was showing.

The jerk took one look at the man in front of him, went pale, and started to babble an apology.

All Klink did, was turn his back, offer me his arm, and help me to hobble out into the street.

He never looked back, and that fool was still flapping his jaws as we walked into the night.

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He walked me over to the public horse trough (which doubled as the municipal fountain), sat me down on the wide lip, and took off my left shoe.

Of course, I reacted in the most dignified way possible.

I squeaked.

I, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAAC, youngest full colonel in Air Corps history, leader over a thousand men and head of the most successful sabotage unit in Europe...

I. Squeaked.

Yeah.

Go ahead.

I'll wait.

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Done yet?

No?

Ok, fine...

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All right all right! Can it!

AS I was saying...

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I was sitting on the fountain's ledge when Klink knelt down and took off my left shoe. He proceeded to dip and wring his handkerchief in the cool water, folding it as a compress over the nasty bruise on my instep. Then, he held my foot in his hands, and proceeded to massage the ache out of my foot and ankle. All the while, making small talk, to take my mind off the pain.

You know, it really was unreal.

I'd never been touched like that before. Never felt someone who wanted only to give and not get. Not even Tiger or Hilda or Suzanne had ever held me just like that. All the others needed something from me, asked for something from me.

Klink hadn't even asked me for my name.

Instead, he was telling me how useful the stars were; how you could let them guide you to far away places, to anywhere in the world, and never be lost.

But 'useful' was only half of it.

"I was high in the sky," he said, "one dark and starry night. I was cold and alone and miserable, the last one alive that awful day, and I was not sure I would be that for much longer. There was a leak in my fuselage, and I was far from certain that I would make it back to my airfield. We had no extra oxygen in the cockpit in those days and were completely open to the elements, so we were told never to fly too high.

"But the stars, dear Fraulein, the stars! They called to me that night, the entire Milky Way a-glow, and I listened to a music that I had never heard before. The music was in my heart, not my ears, but the wind added a harmony that roared around me and numbed my fears away. The beauty of the night sky lifted me up, and my plane too, until it seemed that I was floating, not flying. The hum of the engine faded to nothing, and I was able to reach up and a wisp of cloud broke into a thousand sparkles of light at my fingertips.

"I flew on, on that pathway of light, surrounded, embraced, I dare say enchanted, now no sound at all in my ears, when the sparks of night faded and the sun cleared a runway to my base.

"I had never had a more perfect landing.

"And there was no fuel in my engine, nor a drop of oil left. Yet the plane's mechanics were unharmed, and the broken fuselage easily repaired. My plane flew true and carried me safely for the rest of the war.

"But I have never seen the stars so bright since that night, when they saved my life. Until tonight."

"Tonight, Sir?" my throat so dry I could barely force the sound out.

"Tonight, Fraulein. Tonight, we are in enemy territory, as I was so long ago. Tonight, I was cold and alone and miserable, the only one of all my comrades whom I have known, respected, cared for, left alive. Then I saw you, and once again heard the music of the night sky in my heart. And now, you are crowned and mantled with all the stars of the Heavens, and see here! how all the fountain's waters sparkle in the starlight.

"And THAT is a clear sign that we may proceed in safety home."

Klink took off the compress and wrapped it around my foot, then slipped my shoe back on.

I'd had some extremely queer things happen to me and my men since we arrived at Stalag 13; things we don't even believe, and they happened to us!

But this? Klink, a guy whose luck is so bad, that if he'd plan a picnic, you could make book on it raining? With ants? Klink, the man so boring he could put a shark to sleep? Klink, the guy who can't pay to make time with a girl? THAT Klink?

So I said the only thing that came to mind: "Who are you, and what have you done with Kommandant Klink?"

He laughed. A soft sound, but genuine. He looked up at me, a look filled with understanding and hurt, and he kissed my left knee as he got up. He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet: "My dear, you have no idea."

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It was then that our ride pulled up: "Herr Kommandant, please excuse me, I have been looking all over town," and Langenscheidt's voice died as he stared at the man who was supposed to be Kommandant Wilhelm Klink, looking as confused as I was all night - guess it really wasn't me.

"Ah, well, you have found me and no time was wasted. We will go back to the Stalag and get you home."

I cleared my throat, trying to regain control of...well, everything, when my, um, uggh, what was he? What is he?

Let me know when you figure it out.

Anyways, Klink guided me to the car and handed me in: "I will take you where you need to go; there are too many who wish you ill for me to not take every precaution. You will be safe with me."

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"You will be safe with me," he said, and for once, I believed him.

Before he got into the car, he told Karl: "We will take the lady home by the Flensheim Road." He got in and as soon as we were moving, he turned completely around and had me look out the back window with him, so he could show me his favorite constellations - and scare off the tail that was following us. Not only that, the Flensheim Road had become notorious for being the worst road in the district; the ruts, the potholes, the bomb craters, were everywhere. None but the locals dared use it any more, especially at night. No one would be able to follow us for any length of time without winding up in a ditch or with a busted axle.

Again, Klink was taking charge, anticipating the problem and coming up with the solution before it was an issue.

Klink continued to do all the talking; I didn't mind. My brain was humming with a hundred questions that all had one answer, and I couldn't bring myself to accept it. A thousand tiny pieces of intel, a thousand examples of 'nobody can be that stupid', all dropped into place: Klink was on our side. Maybe for a while, maybe for years, but could we trust him further? What if it was a ruse? What if, for once, Hochstetter had come up with a real idea, an actual plan that might actually work? My men's lives were riding on my every move, and I couldn't afford to make a mistake this close to the end of the war.

I had to keep them safe, even if it meant keeping a potential ally - a friend? - in the dark.

I'd missed a bit of the conversation, so I was very startled when Klink seemed to change the subject:

"Langenscheidt, you did go to the hotel first, to retrieve my things?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant, everything is in the boot."

"Excellent, Corporal. It would have made it awkward to have to go back to town for the gift."

The two of us, Langenscheidt and me, said it at the same time: "Gift?"

"Gift."

I could feel his grin in the darkness of the back seat and it surprised me that was all I could feel. I'd been nervously certain that whether he knew it was me or not, he'd never pass up the opportunity to make a pass at me. Instead, he'd been the perfect gentleman, offering only friendly conversation. A friendly conversation that included seeing two Panzer divisions rolling north towards Duisburg, "very likely to reinforce the advance column of Model's Army B at Krefeld, but then again, what do I know about infantry?"

Heck, the man had already given me a terrific gift, and now he's adding to it?

Gee, I didn't know what to say!

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There's a small farmer's lane about a mile before we get to the Stalag; Klink instructed Langenscheidt to turn up that lane, explaining: "I thought it best to take you straight home, or as near as I can manage. The road was so much worse than I thought and the hour is late, too late to invite you for a nightcap without worrying your family. I am sure that we both have a long workday ahead tomorrow." All I could do is nod my head; I couldn't even bring myself to ask him how he'd decided that this is where I live.

About half way up the track, he told Karl to stop: "I'm afraid that if we go further, the car will become stuck. But I am sure that you will make it safely home from here. Corporal, please open the boot, I need that gift now."

Now I'm still confused and tried to tell him that a gift wasn't needed, that it was too much, really, but he wouldn't hear of it: "Please dear Fraulein! I have no one to please, no one to care for, no one with whom to spend my pay. Let me at least give you a very small token of my esteem, something that may aid you, something that you may be able to use and think of me." While he spoke, he rummaged around in the dark and found whatever it was and turned to me, and even in the starlight, I could see his smile.

I looked down at what was obviously a medium-sized glass bottle: "Open it my dear, carefully," he said. So I did. As soon as the stopper was off, I knew I was holding a bottle of real Eau de Cologne.

Klink explained: "You see, your parfume has been intriguing me all evening long and I realized the scent was bay rum. Now you are assuredly free to wear any scent you like, but it might in close quarters prove awkward. With this local essence, you might blend in better."

My brain had just gone haywire; Klink, KLINK, is trying to tell me something, something really important, but what? He knows I was wearing bay rum and if I use the native brand...

Oh.

OH!

Crap.

I'm a fool, I'm every bit the idiot that I've always accused Klink of being, and I'm beating myself up over it to the point that I've missed what he just said, again!

"I am sooo sorry, could you please repeat that?"

"Woolgathering?"

"Yes, I am sorry, I don't usually lose myself like that, but such a generous gift and so unexpected"

Klink waved his hand in dismissal: "Think nothing of it, it is my pledged duty to protect you" and then he mumbled something that I didn't catch, "and you deserve something nice for yourself on such a special day. Well, I must be off." He held out his hand to shake.

He was saving my life - asking for nothing in return. Not even a...

"Hey! What about my good-night kiss?"

It was dark, but not that dark. I could see clearly enough that I'd stunned him. I repeated: "You heard me. What about it?"

He took a step, two, closer: "On a first date?" he smiled that amazing smile.

"Sure, that's what makes it official," I nodded.

"Well then, far be it from me, not to make it...'official'. "

He moved in, clasping both my hands (still around the bottle) and I had just enough time to figure that I'd let him have a school boy peck, when his lips touched mine and one of Carter's detonators went off in my chest.

Look, I'm usually the one in charge, ok? I'm in control, I'm the one whose kisses make the girls weak in the knees. Even when I'm kissing Tiger, even when she ambushed me in the compound, it was still me all the way.

That's sounds God-awful doesn't it?

I guess I don't know what I mean, except that I hate when things aren't in control, my control.

I guess I'm afraid. I mean when you're the golden boy, the one with all the answers, the one they all look up to, the one they all depend on, you can't afford to slip up, to be human. To lose control.

I might have turned into a guy like Wembley, a spit-and-polish-my-way-or-the-highway martinet. My only saving grace is that I learned early on that the best way to be in control was to get everyone around you to help you stay in control. Mom taught me how to listen to others, not just hear them, how to respect those around me, no matter who they were or where they came from - to reach out whenever you could, and give the other guy a shot.

Made a lot of wonderful friends that way.

Also means that I can stay in control, and get whatever I need to get done, done.

But now, I was completely out of control. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know where this would go. I only knew that this was something new and it felt...limitless.

He kissed like he smiled: passionate, warm, giving. He was laying it all on the line, no thought to caution or safety. And yet, he wasn't asking me for a thing. I could just take that kiss, take his love, and not have to give a thing back. Just like I'd been doing every single day for over two years.

Or.

I could give up control, and trust. Let somebody else take over for a little. Somebody who'd lead me home. Somebody I could trust not to take over: "... have a bit of faith!" he said, "I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity." He'd kept his promise, all right. And more.

Because now? I was in control. He'd kissed me like he was dying and I was his life, but now? He stopped, came up for air, and waited.

Waited for me.

I told you, I always play my hunches, right?

So I played my hunch that this would turn out to be the smartest thing I'd ever done; I leaned into the inch separating us and kissed back, with everything plus interest.

I mean, I had to show him who was the best kisser, right? Right? Right.

And if you believe that, I've got the lease to the Brooklyn Bridge in my footlocker.

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It was our forgotten driver who broke us up: "Herr Kommandant?" was all he said.

It was enough to bring us back from the edge. Lord help me, if Klink hadn't been holding my hands so tightly in his, they would have roamed the world over.

Klink brought my hands up to his mouth and kissed each finger, before letting go. He stepped back, walking backwards to the car, keeping his eyes locked on mine: "Be safe. And thank you. For everything." He got into the car, Langenscheidt turned them around, and away they went.

The second the car was out of sight, I tore through the woods like the Hound of the Baskervilles was behind me. Made it to the emergency tunnel in record time, slowed down enough to carefully place the bottle on the little shelf with our make-up and shaving gear, tossed the compact to Baker (who was on radio duty), changed out of my girl duds into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, flew up the bunk entrance, nearly mowed down Mills and Shurtlieff, (their bunk is closest to my door) and threw myself into my bunk.

I didn't have very long to wait; Klink walked in about 15 minutes later. It was his habit to visit me after any evening out involving a woman, and I knew he wouldn't want to break routine, especially since Karl would expect it.

Of course, I pretended to be asleep.

Of course, Klink pretended that he was waking me up.

Of course, we both pretended that this was the first time we'd seen each other all night long.

Of course, and naturally, we tried to pretend that nothing had happened, business as usual.

Naturally, we failed.

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You see, I thought we'd had it made.

Thought we'd be able to pretend; after all we we're both so very good at it.

I was all ready with my usual - "Come on, Kommandant, I need my beauty sleep. Strike out with the barmaid again?" - when I turned my head and opened my eyes before getting up.

And there they were – those damned Prussian blue eyes.

No masks, no words to distract, no hiding. Nothing between his soul and mine.

I'd been in communal showers, gone skinny-dipping, read a few National Geographics, had sex, even made love – but I've never seen anybody more naked than Klink was right then and there, fully dressed, just kneeling by my bedside, holding my shoulder to pretend to shake me awake.

We didn't say a thing, we just looked.

Then, he smiled.

I'd been treated rough a time or two in this war, been scared for myself and for my men, have hurt and ached and belly-ached and missed everyone and everything from my mom's spaghetti soup to the Holland Tunnel, but I'd never been closer to crying.

He broke eye contact first. For a reason. He reached into his uniform pocket, and pulled out that idiotic clutch purse that I'd forgotten back on the table at the Rathskeller. Some Underground contact I am! What was this, the fourth deadly mistake I'd made tonight? If I'd been out to impress, I'd sure made a mess of things.

He pressed the purse into my hand, then got up and walked back to the door. He turned back to me, with his hand on the knob, and said, "There's a little something in there for you. I had a better gift, but I gave it away, to one who needed it more. You understand. Still, it's the thought that counts. Happy Birthday."

He was part way out the door before I could get my voice back into gear: "Wait! Um ah, I'll let you know. Oh and thanks, thank you I mean. For everything."

I'm not sure how he understood; I wasn't even sure what I meant, but he did. Another smile, a bit more hopeful than before, and he left, closing the door behind him.

I looked inside the purse as soon as the door clicked shut. There was some paper there, that hadn't been there before, folded up to fit. I unfolded what I thought was a letter, to find it was a few leaves of homemade sheet music: the musical score to the song we'd danced to, notated for violin and drum.

A real fairy tale ending.

Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.

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Epilogue 1 – Turning in the Homework

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Yes, Hogan! What in the world were you thinking! I've read your story, and it is beyond mad! I cannot possible let anyone read this, I"

"Happy Birthday, Wilhelm."

"What?"

"I had to get you something that would mean as much to you as your gift did to me, and face it, my shopping options are limited."

"Then this is for me, just for me?"

"Sure. Besides, I always thought that your old man was a real Scrooge, telling you that you didn't get to have birthday presents because you were born the day after Saint Nicholas Day. So this is for you, just you. And in honor of our friendship, and so my not turning in a story doesn't hurt the bottom line, I'll kick in 10 bucks for the Winter Fund and the USO."

"Then I have nothing to say but that I will do the same, and thank you, Robert."

"You're welcome. Oh, and turn about is fair play you know."

Klink stared quizzically at his Senior POW. Hogan added: "To make it official, you know."

"Oh...OH! Of course, far be it from me, not to make it 'official'."

The End?

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A/N: Yes I know, way too late for the challenge, but I mean it when I say I'd like to add a few bucks to the kitty for the cause.

For those who are interested, I have added the 'broken' links for the Wikipeadia entries for Speer and Von Braun, so that you can judge how many liberties that I might have taken for yourselves. But for starters, Speer really did have a daughter (three daughters, two sons) although I doubt she was in the Resistance.

dot org/ wiki/Wernher_von_Braun

dot org/ wiki/Albert_Speer

Also, "Fanfare D'Amour" was an extremely popular French film comedy from the 1930's, and so you will understand the joke - "Some Like It Hot" was the 2nd remake.

I have also included broken links for three songs that I might have used if the rules allowed song lyrics, but only one of which I was listening to when I was writing the dance. I'll kick in a dollar for every correct guess to Konarciq's shopping spree, so read, and review or pm me with your guesses!

dot com/ watch?v=HkGS263lGsQ

dot com/ watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I&NR=1&feature=endscreen

dot com/ watch?v=zuQkZD3F2EQ

And yes, they are all anachronisms, but hey they work. Happy reading and listening!