A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love.
Written in honor of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.
November 9, 1989
There were only two of them left, and they stood side by side near the graffiti-covered structure that had been in place for twenty-eight years.
The tall man with the snow-white hair stood with the same casual slouch he had demonstrated forty-four years before, and the diminutive Frenchman had hardly changed at all.
But they were in their eighties, and each knew his time on earth was limited. It seemed only fitting to cap off their colorful careers in a city which had caused them so much grief in the past. (Although it might be said that they in turn had caused the Nazi rulers of that city just as much grief.)
They had foregathered at this spot in West Berlin because of a rumor that something fantastic was about to take place.
"Wonder what made them decide to do this," mused Major General Robert E. Hogan (United States Air Force, retired), as he watched an elderly man take a swing at the infamous wall with a hammer.
Louis LeBeau, one of France's most famous recording artists as well as a respected restaurateur, gave a half-smile and shrugged. "All I know is this: the filthy Boche who were controlling East Germany have finally seen the light, and without bloodshed, too."
Seeking to help the elderly man, a young man grasped him around the waist and lifted him so the elderly man could strike blows higher on the wall. Meanwhile, the border gates had been opened and crowds of Ossis poured through to join the wildly cheering Wessis on this side.
"I can't tell you how happy I am that it's finally happening," said Hogan, smiling at the joyous celebration. "But I sure would like to know just how it happened."
On the eastern side of the wall an elderly woman stood, her faded blue eyes alight with the old fire as she watched the happy crowds push through the open gates. She, too, was in her eighties, and Berlin had been her enemy, even more so than it had been for the two men on the other side of the wall.
But Berlin was the enemy no longer. Hatred and injustice were the enemies, and always would be.
She alone knew why Gorbachev had allowed Germany to determine its own fate, and why the East German leaders had decided to open the borders. The world would never know her name nor her role in Soviet affairs, but that did not bother her in the least.
She had done her best, and she felt quite sure that the two men whom she loved were sharing this moment in some way.
"This is what you and those in the underground worked for at Stalag 13, is it not, Hogan darling?" she said to herself. "You wanted to see a democratic and peace-loving Germany take its rightful place in the world. And as for you, my small one, a peaceful and prosperous Europe for you and your family is all I can wish for. Bonne santé, mon petit."
The woman known as Marya smiled wistfully as a single tear trickled down her cheek, but it was a tear of joy, after all. Leaning only slightly on her cane, she turned and disappeared into the shadows.