The Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher

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"Colonel, there's a car driving into camp." But before Hogan had joined Goldman at the door, the look-out added, "It's Hochstetter."

"Hochstetter?" Hogan peeked outside as well.

"What's he doing here at seven o'clock in the morning?" Newkirk scoffed.

"Spoiling Klink's breakfast no doubt." Hogan watched Hochstetter storm into Klink's office and out again, and then stomping over to the Kommandant's private quarters.

"I better go and see what he wants," Hogan decided. "You guys put on the coffeepot, okay?" He zipped up his jacket and stepped out in the stiff morning breeze just as Hochstetter threw open Klink's door in the distance.

As Hogan swiftly crossed the compound, a standard reason to bother Klink was easily enough decided upon, and so he entered the Kommandant's quarters with a fierce, "Kommandant, I protest!"

"Go away, Hogan." Klink sighed and put down his tea cup.

But Hochstetter overshrieked him. "Who is this man?"

"Oh, allow me to introduce you." Klink the perfect host got up and gestured to his senior prisoner-of-war. "Major Hochstetter, may I present Colonel Robert Hogan of the American Air Corps. Colonel Hogan – major Hochstetter."

Hogan smirked. "Hi. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

But Hochstetter only seethed in reply. "Klink! What is this man doing here?"

"Yes, Hogan, what are you doing here?" Klink chimed in. "You know I don't like to be disturbed during breakfast."

Hogan squared his shoulders. "I came here to protest on behalf of my men, sir. There was so much sawdust in the bread this morning, that we could discern tree rings!"

"Tree rings?"

"Paah! You are mere prisoners of the Third Reich! You should be grateful that you get fed at all!"

"Major, the Geneva Convention clearly states..."

"The Geneva Convention is nothing but a load of bulldust hampering my work! Now, Klink, about last night. Are you going to let me interrogate this Frenchman, or do I have to resort to more... persuasive arguments?"

"What Frenchman?" Hogan demanded before Klink could even try to get a word in.

Hochstetter looked like the cat who had not only swallowed the canary, but also its twin. "The little Frenchman in your barracks, Hogan – what was his name again? He fits the description of a suspicious little man who was spotted near a secret small arms depot last night."

Klink's eyes widened. "The Cockroach? Impossible! No one ever escapes from Stalag 13."

"And every man in the barracks can vouch for it that he was here last night," Hogan added with a touch of defiance.

"But I want to interrogate than man and I shall..." Hochstetter's scream stopped short the very moment he slammed his hand on the breakfast-filled table, causing a bell-like tool next to his hand to jump. Instead, he stared at the contraption with distrust written all over his face. "What is that thing?"

Hogan and Klink bent forward in a synchronous movement to see.

"I don't know," Klink said in wonder. "I've never seen it before."

"Looks like a bell." Hogan reached out to pick it up and jingle it, but Hochstetter stopped him.

"Don't touch it. It could be an explosive device."

Klink squeaked. "They want to blow me up?!"

Hochstetter smirked. "It's tempting, isn't it, Herr Kom-man-dant." But immediately, he turned his attention back to the watchamacallit. "Klink – are you sure this is not part of your regular breakfast service?"

Klink cowered as far back in his chair as he possibly could. "I assure you, major, I have never seen it before."

"That leaves only one suspect then." And with a glare at his archenemy, Hochstetter announced, "This man put it here."

"Me?!"

"Hogan!?" Klink's face was absolutely ashen. "How could you do this to me? Am I not your fair and impartial Kommandant?"

Hogan hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "I assure you, Kommandant, I did not put it there. I've never seen the thing in my life."

"Of course he would say that," Hochstetter grumbled. "But since it obviously only appeared after he entered the room, there can be no doubt that he was the one who brought it in here. And put it on the table. So..." He came toe to toe with his foe, and put all his menace in the (unfortunately upward) glare. "What is this thing? Does it explode the moment it's picked up?"

Hogan shrugged in innocence. "How should I know?"

"Try it," Hochstetter ordered.

"But, major..." a nervous Klink began.

But a curt gesture from the Gestapoman cut him off. "Back off, Klink." And he promptly gave the example, leaving Hogan to stand alone at the well-spread breakfast table. "Pick it up," he ordered.

Hogan looked from him to the Kommandant, and then down at the offending thingamajig on the table. A thingamajig he had definitely not put there himself. What could it be? An explosive device, as Hochstetter suggested? Or something as harmless as a bell to summon servants? But then why didn't Klink know about it?

"Pick it up!" Hochstetter repeated, backing away another step.

One last glance from one to the other, and then – warily, cautiously – Hogan reached over to pick up the thing. His fingers hesitated though, hovering over the little eggshaped form at the top. It was the most logical place to pick it up – but was the most logical place to pick it up also the best place?

His eyes scanned the form – its stick, the sphere, the bellshape... The most illogical place to pick it up would be...

Carefully, his fingers caressed the bellshaped at the bottom. The cool metal felt cold and smooth to his touch. Should he...?

His thumb and two fingers closed around the bellshape and lifted the thing up. Its weight surprised him – but nothing happened.

"Is it a bell?" Klink trembled in his corner by the window.

But, "Don't shake it!" Hochstetter barked. Clearly, he was nervous, too.

Instead, Hogan slowly raised the bell-like thing above his head to be able to look at the bottom. "It has no clapper," he announced. "So if it's a bell, it's broken."

Tick!

A collective gasp for breath; Klink dove behind a chair, while Hogan and Hochstetter remained frozen in place.

Looking at the bottom of the unknown contraption, Hogan had tilted it back to the point where the metal sphere – obviously the part that gave the thing its unexpected weight – had slid along the stick to come to rest against the little eggshape at the top.

Was this some new, innocuous looking type of handgrenade, and was the metal sphere filled with explosives that were meant to go off upon contact with the little egg at the top?

Ten... twenty... thirty dreadfully slow seconds passed before Hogan dared to draw a breath again. "If it's an explosive, it seems to be a dud," he said. Carefully, he took the metal sphere between thumb and index finger, before lowering the possibly deadly contraption again and putting it back on the table, where he lowered the ball at a painstakingly slow pace to its original position on top of the bellshape. Once again, nothing happened.

"Do you have to leave it there?" Klink yammered from behind his chair.

"Alright. I'll take it with me," Hogan decided.

But Hochstetter was quicker. "I will take it with me," he snarled, and carefully picked up the thingamajig. "You put it there, and I will get to the bottom of it, finding out exactly how it works. I am sure our scientists would be very... interested... in improving this weapon." With that, he tiptoed out of the room as if walking on eggshells, carrying the supposedly Allied threat as far away from his body as he possibly could.

"It's about twelve inches high, and entirely made of quite heavy metal apart from this little thingy here at the top." Hogan ticked on his sketch with his pencil. "The heaviest part is the sphere, which can freely move back and forth along the stick. And the sphere is about an inch in diameter, or maybe a little bit more." He looked around at the frowning faces. "Any ideas what it could be?"

Newkirk looked up. "With or without a clapper, I still say it looks like some kind of handbell."

"But then why that long stick and the heavy sphere?" Kinch countered.

"And what's in that sphere – that's what's important," Carter agreed.

"What do you think?" Hogan looked expectantly at his Tech Sergeant – at times like these, Carter's unbridled imagination seemed like the one resource that could help them figure this out.

"Well ehm..." Carter fidgeted a little under the genuine expectation he felt. "As you say, it could be a new type of handgrenade. Or a bell that's broken."

"We already covered that," Newkirk muttered, but a glare from both Kinch and Hogan silenced him.

"Or?" Hogan prompted Carter.

"Or... or a toy."

"A toy?!" Newkirk shook his head. "Are you daft? What's fun about playing with something like this?"

"Well, toys for young children often don't make sense to grown-ups. I remember my baby brother had a..."

"Later," Hogan interrupted the probably lengthy aside. "It could be a toy, yes. What else?"

"Um... maybe a tool of some sort. Or one of those things with which you can extinguish candles – what are they called again?"

"Snuffers," Kinch supplied.

"Then why that heavy ball?" LeBeau wanted to know.

Carter shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just..."

"Go on," Hogan encouraged him.

"Or..." He suddenly snickered. "Maybe it's a contraption that will rap Schultz over the knuckles – that every time he tries to steal one of Klink's cigars, he has to put his hand on the bell and then Klink drops that metal ball on his fingers."

"You mean it could be a torturing device," Kinch summarized gravely.

Carter blanched. "Um... yes. I suppose so."

"No wonder Hochstetter is so interested in it," LeBeau grouched.

"Go on," Hogan repeated. "What else could it be?"

Carter gulped. "Um... maybe a secret listening device? Like when you put a glass against the wall: here you put the little thingy in your ear and the bellshape against the wall and..." He sighed. "That still doesn't make sense for that heavy sphere. Unless..." His face brightened already. "Unless of course there's a tiny little broadcasting device in there, transmitting everything it picks up through the wall! And the long stick could be the antenna – perhaps it's some kind of portable radio!"

"If it is, it'd be a major step forward from the bulky ones we use," Kinch commented.

But Carter already went on. "Or perhaps Klink stole it from the hotel when he went on that trip to the mountains. You know, one of those summoning bells at the reception desk. Or perhaps it's some kind of catapult. Or a musical instrument – we all know how much he 'loves' music. Or perhaps it's a rattle, or perhaps the sphere contains some kind of mustard gas that is supposed to come out upon contact with the egg thingy, or..."

"Colonel?" Kinch asked when Carter ten minutes and a few dozen possible explanations later finally fell silent.

Hogan stepped out of the group by his desk and took the two familiar paces towards his closet before turning around with a reply. "Carter's come up with more than enough interesting possibilities to warrant a closer look at that gadget. If the Germans have devised some new secret weapon or mini radio or whatever, we ought to find out about it." He hugged himself and glanced around the faces. "Kinch, I want you to brief London on this. If they think it's important enough to investigate, you and Newkirk will go out and break into Hochstetter's office tonight to retrieve the thing. Let's find out what it is."

Kinch acknowledged the order in silence, but Newkirk quirked his eyebrows in disbelief. "Break into Gestapo Headquarters?"

"Sure. Why not?" Hogan put an arm around his shoulder. "Should be a piece of pie – we've done far crazier things, haven't we?"

"You mean 'piece of cake'," Carter corrected him solemnly – only to look around in confusion at the general bout of laughter that followed his words.

Of course, breaking into Gestapo Headquarters was never a piece of cake – or pie, or whatever. Hogan knew that as well as any of his men, and probably better. And once London had given the go-ahead for the investigation, he went over the plan and the building's lay-out half a dozen times before he let Newkirk and Kinch go, with exhortations about being careful and avoiding any unnecessary risks still ringing in their ears. They went in the darkest of the night, and Hogan spent two and a half hours pacing the tunnel before he heard and then saw them safely coming back through the emergency tunnel.

"How did it go?"

"Here you go, Governor." Newkirk pulled the contraption from the black bag he carried, and pulled off his black cap.

Gingerly, Hogan took it from him and placed it on the nearest table.

"Please, Colonel," a horrified Kinch gasped. "Not next to the radio!"

"You're right." Hogan picked it up again, and looked around. "We'll store it at the end of tunnel 5 for now. Tomorrow we'll drum up some experts and see if we can solve this mystery."

After not enough sleep, roll call, and breakfast in the mess hall with more tree-ringed bread, one by one a varied group of experts came trickling into barracks 2. There was their medic Wilson, there was the young Norwegian engineer, musician Doyle, chaplain Foster, farm-boy Jones, a representative from their metal shop, a mechanic, a tailor, a teacher, a policeman, and of course barracks 2's own specialists. They all gathered around the central table, mesmerized by the unknown contraption, stymied as to its purpose.

"It's not going to explode, is it?" Foster asked, his voice at an even higher pitch than usual.

"It hasn't so far," Hogan assured him.

Cautiously, the men fingered the mysterious tool. And everyone jumped back when Doyle let the heavy sphere drop on the bellshape with a decisive tick.

"Don't do that!" LeBeau hissed.

But nothing happened.

"If it is a musical instrument, which I doubt," Doyle observed, "It's one of those basic ones. Like a triangle."

They all absorbed this in silence, until Wilson hesitantly spoke up. "Maybe it's a medical instrument. A fetoscope or something like that."

"A what?" Newkirk reacted.

Wilson looked up. "A fetoscope. It's an instrument that's used when a woman is with child. To listen to the baby's heartbeat." He looked at the thing again. "It's somewhat the same shape, but I'm mystified as to the purpose of that heavy sphere."

"And what use Klink would have for an instrument like that," Goldman added with a grin.

"At the breakfast table no less," LeBeau added with feigned shock.

"Maybe we should just call it a gonculator," Newkirk suggested, causing even more chuckles around the room.

"Anyone else have an idea?" Hogan encouraged the men.

But at that moment, the door flew open and in lumbered Schultz. "Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants to... Oh, there it is!" Schultz came over to the table and picked up the mysterious thingamajig with obvious affection. "I was wondering where it had gotten to." He looked around the many faces, and furrowed his brow. "Wait. How did it end up here?"

"We found it," Hogan deadpanned.

"Oh. Then it's okay." Schultz lifted the heavy metal sphere to the top of the stick and let it drop with pleasure – apparently, there was nothing to fear.

"But tell me, Schultz – what is it?" Hogan prodded casually.

"It's an Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher," Schultz replied.

"A what?" LeBeau cried.

"It's a gonculator alright," Newkirk muttered under his breath.

"An Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher," Schultz repeated willingly. "My son made it in metal class at school, and gave it to me on my latest leave. But it's such a fun thing – I thought the Kommandant might enjoy it, too. Click – you see? But then..." A fatalistic shrug. "After the Kommandant's breakfast yesterday, it had simply disappeared. But I'm glad you found it, Colonel Hogan. Thank you. It would not be easy to have to face my Oskar and tell him that I lost it."

"But Schultz, what is an Eierschalersacher... or whatever you called it?" Carter asked.

"Let me show you." Schultz came back to the table. "LeBeau, do you have an egg I could borrow? A boiled egg?"

"Borrow? Or eat?" LeBeau scoffed.

"Both," Schultz admitted with a good-natured grin.

"Well, I have neither," LeBeau grumbled. "Hermann has stopped laying, and you won't let us go into town to buy eggs."

"Never mind, I'll do without." Schultz put down his Eierschalenwhatever on the table and flexed his fingers. "This," he announced, "Is an authentic German Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher. You place the bellshaped bottom on top of your boiled egg. Then..." He demonstrated his explanation deftly. "You raise the ball to the top of the stick, and let it drop. For the best result, repeat this two or three times." Tick! Tick! Tick! "Now, as we lift the Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher off the egg, the top part of the eggshell will come off right along with it, and along a perfectly straight line, too. And you can start eating your egg!"

His audience looked a bit dumbfounded. Only Carter found a comment, as usual. "Oh, it's an egg opener!"

"Yes. I suppose you could put it like that," Schultz granted him.

"And what did you call that thing?" Hogan inquired.

"An Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher," Schultz replied in heavenly tones.

"So..." Kinch struggled to translate the multicompounded word. "It's something that causes the eggshell to break along a predefined line."

"An egg opener," Carter confirmed.

"A gonculator," Newkirk persisted.

"Don't be foolish, Newkirk. It's too small to catch rabbits in it." Schultz picked up his son's school project and turned to leave. "Oh, before I forget: Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants you to join him for a game of chess tonight. Right after roll call, he said. In his office."

Hogan sighed. "Right. I'll be there. But before I forget..." Hogan held back their barracks guard with a mischievous grin. "You better keep that thingamajig out of sight, Schultz. Rumour has it that major Hochstetter is convinced it's some kind of new secret weapon."

"A weapon? An Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher a weapon? Ha ha!" Schultz laughed heartily at the idea. "You might as well fight the war with a soup ladle!"

With that, he left the prisoners to their own pursuits (of which of course he preferred to know nothing), but at first the collection of experts just looked at each other.

"An egg opener," Hogan sighed at last. "Such a fuss, breaking into Gestapo Headquarters and all – for a silly egg opener..."

"Well, I rather like the word they have for it," Carter spoke up. "Perhaps we could include it in our codebook. Wouldn't that be great? Nobody would be able to pronounce it!"

"Yes, great." Hogan sighed. "It's just the kind of word that the Germans might spring on us when we're out on a mission, to check if we're real natives. Kinch – or anyone – did you happen to write down that monstrosity of a word?"

Nobody had, but Carter made a valiant effort to say it nonetheless. "It was Eierschalerbruchversacher... or something like that," he finished lamely.

"No, it was longer." Kinch frowned, trying to recall his own translation and reversing it back to German. "Sollbruch... sollbruchverursacher... No, sollbruchstellenverursacher. Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursacher – that was it."

"Write it down," Hogan ordered. "And I want everyone in this room to be able to pronounce that word by tonight – without stumbling."

"Me too?" Newkirk tried with a hint of reproach. "The German lingo never really agreed with me, you know, and..."

"You especially. Your German could do with some brushing up."

Newkirk sighed, and turned away. "I still say it's a bloody gonculator," he said.

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The End

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Note: I have no idea if Eierschalensollbruchstellenverursachers already existed in the forties. They certainly exist today, they most certainly seem to be exclusively German, and upon first acquaintance, its purpose is definitely puzzling for the unsuspecting tourist!

If you'd like to see the thing in action, copy and paste the word into the searchbox on youtube, and you'll find a few dozen instructional videos.

For those of you who'd like to try and break their tongue on it, the word has two clear syllables of emphasis: 'soll' and 'ur', with 'soll' being the most emphasized one. Good luck!

Which leaves me only with a thank-you to anyone who created those OCs that I took out to play without asking, and to Sgt. Moffitt, who – ages ago – already helped me to the word fetoscope; a word that is mysteriously missing from my dictionary.