THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS ONE RABBIT
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"Colonel, look what I found!" Carter held up a fluffy bunny rabbit.
Newkirk let out a long suffering sigh. "Carter... not again...!"
"Why? What's wrong with having another bunny rabbit? I thought he'd be nice as a friend for Hasenpfeffer. It must be quite boring for a rabbit to sit there all by himself in that old gonculator."
"Carter," Kinch chimed in. "Don't you remember the Colonel's immortal words? 'There is no such thing as one rabbit'."
"Exactly," Carter agreed. "That's why I got him a friend."
"But, Carter..." Hogan took the new bunny from Carter's hands. "This is no ordinary bunny."
"It isn't?"
"No. Can't you tell? This is..."
"Don't say it!" Newkirk gasped. "Please, Guv - don't say it!"
"I'm sorry, Newkirk. But yes, this is indeed a plot bunny..."
Introduction to Rabbitology 101
Basically, there are two types of rabbits: regular bunnies, and plot bunnies.
The first form is scientifically known as oryctolagus cuniculus. It is known for its soft fur, longish ears that can be moved individually, and a twitchy nose. It can be found in the wild, and is fairly typical for its native grounds of Europe. This form has also been introduced into alien habitats (most notably Australia), which proved devastating for the local flora and fauna, due to the fact that the bunnies had no predators there, and were free to live up to one of their most stigmatized stigmas: they propagate themselves like rabbits.
The oryctolagus cuniculus can also be found in domesticated form. When treated with lots of love, greens and interaction, they make for excellent companions both in the home and in the garden, although the owners should be prepared to deal with the occasional havoc coming with chewed up electrical cables, chewed up furniture, chewed up wallpaper, chewed up books, chewed up vegetable patches - make that chewed up everything. And of course with those charming little bunny drops lying around everywhere.
The second type, scientifically known as fabula cuniculus, can be found all over the world, and is suspected to thrive anywhere in the galaxy where there is conscious thought and a tradition of fiction. (Although there is some debate about this, considering that the obviously conscious Termites (sorry: Thermians) did not develop the concept of fiction for millions of years.)
The fabula cuniculus is the personification - or rather bunnification - of a fictional plot line conceived by a story writer. When treated with care and respect, they make for inspiring companions during the conception and the writing of the story. However, no matter how fortunate an author may count him- or herself for having the privilege of being visited by a true fabula cuniculus, they should be aware of two things: not only do plot bunnies have a habit of taking off on their own, they also - like tribbles - are born pregnant...
"So?" Carter asked. "We gave our fanfic authors a challenge to write stories, right? So what harm is an extra plot bunny going to do?"
Newkirk almost choked. "What harm...? Carter, are you out of your bleeding mind? What if he gets away?"
"What if he starts multiplying himself?" LeBeau added. "Who knows what kind of plot is brewing behind that twitchy nose?"
Carter shrugged. "I don't see the problem. Just another adventure for us. And come on guys - if we don't have anything to do for a week, you're all complaining that you're bored!"
"I'd rather be bored than being overrun by bunnies," LeBeau declared.
"We're not going to risk it," Hogan decided. "This bunny stays locked up."
"Fine." Carter pouted. "I'll put him with Hasenpfeffer in the gonculator."
"No," Hogan vetoed. "We're not going to put him together with another bunny. That's not asking for trouble - that's pleading for trouble. Kinch, get me one of those old wine crates we used for the purchasing plan. We'll lock him in there, and I'll keep him safe in my office."
And that's how this poor plot bunny was dealt with, in spite of Carter's multiple and vehement protests.
Nevertheless, like their oryctolagus cousins, plot bunnies are excellent chewinators. They can chew themselves out of anything. And they dislike to be locked up as much as the next man (or bunny). It drove the Colonel mad during the night - the constant gnawing and chewing on the wood of the wine crate deprived him of any chance of sleep. In fact, it got so bad, that in the end he opened up his window, and dumped the crate with bunny and all outside.
Maybe he shouldn't have done that...
Maybe he should at least have checked how far this little chewinator had managed to gnaw through the wood of his little prison, before dumping him out the window.
For as it was, in the course of half an hour, the twitchy nose was smelling fresh night air again, making him only more determined to get out of his little prison. And before the night was over, there was one little plot bunny running around free in Stalag 13... And we all know what kind of mischief free range plot bunnies can get up to. Don't we...?
Carter was (of course) the one who had volunteered to take care of the plot bunny until the poor animal would have worn itself out into non-existence. So Carter was the one who discovered that the crate Hogan had confessed he had dumped out of his window was now empty.
"Colonel!" he came running back into the barracks. "It's the plot bunny! He's escaped!"
"Impossible!" Hogan intoned automatically. "No one escapes from Stala..." He halted himself. "What am I saying?"
Kinch regarded him with a serious frown. "I'm afraid it might be the plot bunny, sir."
"It's affecting me already?" Hogan's voice even jumped an octave, much like he'd often heard Klink's do. He swallowed. "Well, sound the alarm, let loose the dogs... I mean... Go find that bunny and bring him back inside!"
Everyone scrambled outside. The other barracks were quickly brought up to date, and within minutes, every POW was going around the camp, sneaking around buildings and looking in every possible hiding place. Some had grabbed a carrot from the camp kitchen, others were trying the stomping bunny alarm to try and coax him out of hiding. There were multiple sightings of the elusive animal, but no one came actually close to catching him. And the guards just watched the whole pandemonium with growing wonder.
"Maybe we should just let loose the dogs, sir," Kinch observed when he reported another flash sighting back to Hogan. "They'll have that bunny in no time."
"True." Hogan sighed. "But the dogs are also likely kill him. We can't have that, Kinch. If my order is the cause of a plot bunny's death, his descendants will be unanimous in their determination to kill me in return. And I've had my share of dying, thank you very much. I'd rather not do it again until it really is my time to go."
A sudden excited shout interrupted Hogan's gloomy reverie. "Colonel! We've found him!"
"He's eating the flowers in Klink's garden!" Goldman added.
Hogan jumped up. "Did you get him?"
"Well, uhm... no. We tried. We tried heroically, honest! But he got away. But the good news is, that Carter and LeBeau are on his trail this time."
"Well, that's something. Kinch, let's go and see if we can help."
They didn't get far. Before they even got close to Klink's quarters, Carter and LeBeau came running back towards them.
"Colonel!" Carter panted out of breath. "We've lost... the plot... bunny...!"
"What?!" Hogan yelped. "How did that happen?"
"He ran through an opening in the wire," LeBeau explained. "Large enough for a rabbit, but nowhere near large enough for man."
"Oh my..." Kinch looked at the Colonel. "What's going to happen now?"
A resigned Hogan just shook his head. "Heaven only knows..."
As if on cue, the gates behind them swung open and let in a stream of cars.
From the first alighted major Hochstetter.
From the second (with considerable effort) alighted General Burkhalter, accompanied by his sister Frau Linkmeyer and her daughter Lotte.
From the third alighted ten British commandos under heavy guard.
From the fourth alighted General von Scheider and the entire German General Staff.
From the fifth alighted a crazy scientist.
From the sixth alighted good old Oskar Schnitzer.
From the seventh alighted a well-known White-Russian lady-spy, accompanied by...
"Oh no," Hogan groaned. "Don't let it be true. She can't have teamed up with...?"
But she had. "Hullo old chaps! How are things in good old Stalag 13?" Hogan got a hearty slap on his shoulder, that instantly broke his collarbone. (What can I say - Colonel (or rather Group Captain) Crittendon is a walking disaster.)
"Quick!" Kinch urged Goldman. "Go and find Wilson, before something drastic happens!"
Goldman ran off, and while Hogan tried to suppress the pain in his shoulder, the equally unwelcome figure of Kommandant Klink appeared on the porch.
"Hogan, what is going on here? What are all these... Oh, but General Burkhalter! What a nice surprise! And..." his manner soured considerably, "Frau Linkmeyer. My Stalag is your Stalag, gnädige Frau." He gulped, and quickly looked at the other visitors.
"You are Kommandant Klink?" a Wehrmacht major addressed him. "I have ten new prisoners for you. Here is the paperwork." A salute, and off he went. Well, that was one taken care of.
"Kommandant Klink, I will need the use of your office for the time being," General von Scheider announced. "An Allied counter offensive is imminent, and we need a safe and secret place to plan our response."
Klink's head bobbed up and down. "Of course, Herr General. My office is your office."
"And I will need a quiet place to work!" the crazy scientist shrieked. "I am on the brink of developing an infallible guiding system for our new long distance rockets! They will destroy our overseas enemies around the world! And your Stalag was recommended to me by my colleagues as the safest place to do rocket research! I demand a functional laboratory on the premises!"
"Of course, Herr Professor," Klink cowered. "My laborary is your laboratory."
"Stop!" came it from major Hochstetter. "This man is a traitor. You are all traitors of the Third Reich - all of you! And you are all my prisoners!"
"Of course, Herr major," Klink replied without thinking. "My prisoners are your prisoners."
"Hey!" Carter spoke up. "Kommandant, you can't do that! The Geneva Convention..."
Klink flinched, but had no suitable reply.
Meanwhile, Wilson had arrived on the scene with his ever present glass of water.
"How is that going to help?" Hogan grouched.
But Wilson just shrugged. "I don't know. I just found myself with a glass of water in my hand."
"I'll take that, thank you." Klink was quick for a change and drank the water before anyone could stop him. "I'm beginning to suffer from dehydration here. It's been such a long hot summer. We could do with a little rain, couldn't we, General Burkhalter?"
"I am not here on account of the weather, Klink," Burkhalter wheezed. "It is my sister."
"Of course." Klink already started to shrink.
"I am dying of a chronic heart attack, and I want to see my sister married before I go. You will have to do the honours."
"Me?! But... Herr General, I..."
"Yes, I know. You prefer young voluptuous blondes. But you would not dare deny your commanding officer his dying wish, would you?"
"Why not?" Marya challenged. "Once you're dead, you can't send him to the Russian front anymore. So what's to stop him from killing you here and now?"
Burkhalter's eyes bulged. "With whom do I have the pleasure?" he demanded in an acid tone. "I do not believe we have been introduced. Klink?"
"But... Herr General..."
"Klink! Introduce me!"
"Yes, Herr General. As you wish, Herr General." Klink tried to take a deep breath for courage. "Herr General, this is the White-Russian spy Marya. Fräulein Marya, this is General Burkhalter."
"Enchanté," Marya purred, flashing her too long eyelashes at him.
But Burkhalter just raised an eyebrow, albeit with difficulty. "Spy, huh? Spying for whom?"
"For the Kaiser," Marya deadpanned, and she tickled the big general under his chin. "So..." She drew out the word seductively. "My dear Klink, aren't you going to welcome me to your little Stalag?"
"Of course, of course." Klink was getting decidedly nervous. "Welcome to Stalag 13, Fräulein Marya."
"And how about the next line?"
Klink frowned in confusion, and almost lost his monocle in the process. "What next line?"
Marya rolled her eyes. "My Stalag is your Stalag. My office is your office. My laboratory is your laboratory. My prisoners are your prisoners." Her eyes glittered. "How about, my bed is your bed?"
"My bed is...?!" Klink's eyes almost fell out of his head, and Marya couldn't help laughing.
"Never mind," she said. "When it comes to getting information through love, I set my sights a fair bit higher than a common prison kommandant."
"This is all counterproductive. Klink! I require the use of your entire cooler. Now!"
"Jawohl, major Hochstetter. My cooler is your cooler."
"For what?" the crazy scientist demanded. "I need a safe place to do my tests! I will need to use the cooler!"
"Find yourself another cooler."
"There is no other cooler. Find yourself another prison!"
"This is my prison!"
"And it's my cooler! My rockets are heat sensitive! I need a cooler!"
"Uhm... gentlemen?" Klink ventured. "This is still my prison camp, as far as I know."
Hochstetter gave him a glare. "You gave him a laboratory, and you gave me your prisoners. You gave that fat general over there your camp, and that officious bunch over there got your office. What do you have left to call yours, Klink?"
"Um... maybe Sergeant Schultz?" He looked around. "Where is Schultz anyway?"
"And you've got the dogs," Schnitzer put in. "My dogs are your dogs." He opened the back of his van, and out spilled three dozen barking shepherds.
"Whaaa!" Klink cried, and he fled inside, leaving all his exalted guests to deal with the canine menace on their own.
The crazy scientist was going for his rockets, praying they would work at close range as well as across the entire globe.
Hochstetter was going for his gun, but with four dogs throwing him to the ground and constantly upon him, he had no chance of reaching it.
Burkhalter was seen running back to his car, with a screaming Frau Linkmeyer at his heels. Young Lotte hadn't even exited the car yet, and clearly decided not to wait and see what would happen: she turned the ignition and fled, leaving her mother and her uncle to their fate at the paws of three dozen killer dogs.
The General Staff tried with all their might to keep their composure, and tell the excited dogs in quasi-authoritative tones to calm down - to sit, to lie, to play dead. But due to their outfit, no dog paid any attention to them - they just kept running around, going after everything that was wearing a German uniform.
General von Scheider ended up climbing a drainpipe, with three dogs jumping up to try and reach his feet.
General Bruner was seen scaling one of the guard towers, with the prison guard lowering his rifle to help the old man reach the safety of the look-out post.
General von Katz had decided on the easy way out - he'd fled into one of the barracks and barricaded himself in there.
Marya was trying to shoo the dogs away from her exquisite leopardskin coat. The only reason she succeeded was, that the dogs kept sneezing as the smoke from the cigarette she was holding floated by their noses.
And Crittendon, he just stood there, a rock in the storm, regarding the chaos around him with the typical stiff upper lip of the British upper class. Every now and then, you could hear him say something like, "Jolly good show, chaps!" That is, if you stood close enough to him to hear his voice over the general ruckus.
"Carter." Hogan drew his Tech Sergeant close with his good arm. "Gather every available man and get out of camp. If we'd ever wanted to stage a mass escape, this is about the best diversion we could possibly get. So get out, and don't come back without that blasted plot bunny!"
"Aye sir." Carter turned to go, but still fired a question back over his shoulder. "Do you think he's multiplied himself by now?"
"Yes. A hundredfold at least!" Hogan scoffed. "So go, and don't leave a single plot bunny out there, understood?"
"Sure, boy! I mean, yes sir."
Such tasks were fairly routine in Stalag 13, and within minutes, Carter and some hundred men crawled out of the emergency tunnel and rolled out of camp under the wire to go bunny hunting. (Mind you: bunny hunting without killing them - for anyone who'd kill a plot bunny would be killed by all its descendants!)
But Hogan knew - and everyone knew - that as long as there were still plot bunnies loose out there, the chaos would only convolute... For every turn of events, even every word could mean the birth of another plot bunny!
Suddenly, the alarms went off, sending the dogs into even more of a frenzy.
"Kommandant! Herr Kommandant!" Langenscheidt came running from the gate. "There's been an escape! Where is the Kommandant?"
Kinch pointed with his thumb. "He went inside."
"Kommandant! Kommandant Klink!" Still yelling for his commanding officer, Langenscheidt disappeared into the office.
And still yelling, but deathly pale this time, he came running out again the next moment. "It's Sergeant Schultz! He's been murdered!"
"What?!" That even made Hogan forget about his broken collarbone. "What happened? Let me see!"
He, together with everyone else, crowded inside. And yes - on top of Helga's desk lay the bloodied corpse of their favourite Kraut. A knife still stuck out of his chest.
"Get Sherlock Holmes!" Langenscheidt yelled at the top of his voice.
"I will do, thank you very much." Hochstetter pushed himself forward to get a look at the crime scene. "Hm..." He stroked his chin. "Obviously a case of being stabbed in the heart. Corporal, do you happen to know if this man had any enemies?"
Langenscheidt gulped. And almost choked. "Well, ehm..."
"Spit it out, man!"
"Ehm... you..."
"What?"
"He s-s-said he d-d-didn't like you," Langenscheidt stammered. He looked like a frightened rabbit. (No, the oryctolagus variety, not the fabula one.)
Hochstetter's eyes bulged, and the veins in his neck swelled up to monstrous proportions. "He said what?!"
"Careful, major, or you're going to die of a heart attack, too," came it from a dangerously wheezing General Burkhalter in the doorway.
Hochstetter turned to him. "Who is this man?"
"You mean you don't know General Burkhalter?" Hogan asked in honest surprise.
"I don't care." Hochstetter turned back to his corpse. "Where is that Klink anyway. It's his subordinate. Shouldn't he..." He stopped cold. "Wait a minute... The only one who has been in here - alone! - with Schultz is..."
His accusation was interrupted by a sudden attack on the office. A spray of bullets sounded off the roof and the walls.
"Get under cover!" everyone yelled, and the next moment, all the participants in the drama were jostling and pushing each other to get the best places under Fräulein Helga's deserted desk. Marya of course used the opportunity to drape herself over as many officers as she could, and some very seductive noises could be heard over the hammering of the bullets on the building.
The spray of fire kept up without interruption, but fortunately, it seemed it wasn't strong enough to penetrate the building. Carefully, Hogan pushed himself up, pushed away a lovesick Marya, and snuck a peek out the window. "Holy cow...!" he breathed.
"What?" General Burkhalter demanded. "Are the Allies at the gate?"
In reply, a triumphant trumpet fanfare sounded from outside, making all the Germans in the room cringe. (Except Hochstetter. He ground his teeth.)
"No. It's a hail storm!" Hogan said. "And Crittendon of course. But we're being bombed by hailstones as big as basketballs! The entire compound is filled with ice. I know it's always winter here, but I've never seen even snow as high as this!"
Suddenly, the barrage of hail fire stopped, and a scorching sun broke through. In an instant, all the basketball hailstones melted, and a cry came from outside.
"Get me a boat! Women and children first!" Crittendon.
"We don't have any children here," Burkhalter remembered. "So let's get out ourselves, before we drown!"
"We do have women though," Marya pointed out. "And isn't your sister out there, too?"
"My rockets!" the crazy scientist cried. "I need to save my rockets! Let me out!"
At that moment, they all froze.
An eerie, almost spooky sound came from behind the door of Klink's office.
The sound of a violin being played by a two-year-old.
A sound that went through everyone's bones and marrow, setting every hair on end.
Suddenly - poof! Poof! Poof!
One after another, all the guests in Stalag 13 disappeared: Burkhalter, Hochstetter, Marya, Crittendon, the General Staff, Schnitzer and his dogs, the crazy scientist...
And Schultz - good old Schultz - sat up with a big belly laugh. "Ha ha! Did I fool you or what? I think that deserves an Apfelstrudel, nicht wahr, Colonel Hogan?"
The hailstones were gone.
The water was gone.
The cars were gone.
The guests were gone.
The overpopulation of dogs was gone.
The corpse was not dead after all.
And the broken collarbone was magically healed.
Only the terrible screeching sound that a certain camp Kommandant called music was left.
"You know, Kinch," Hogan said once they had safely made it outside. "There is something to be learned from this disaster. Bad music can be the end of even the most inspired plot bunny."
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THE END