Usual disclaimers apply: I don't own 'Hogan's Heroes' and am only borrowing them for fun, not profit.
Chapter One
The little old lady tottered slowly down the Wilhelmstrasse, the wide main street in the German town of Hammelburg. From the top of her black pillbox hat to the soles of her heavy walking shoes, she looked like any of the dozens of other grandmotherly women who were out for a day's shopping. Clutching a string bag in one hand and with her other holding her knit shawl around her stooped shoulders, she went into the green grocer's shop.
Maximillian Dietz, the proprietor, finished bagging a customer's purchases and smiled as they went out his door. On seeing the little old lady, his smile slipped, but only for an instant. He brushed down the front of his apron and went over to greet her as she stood looking over the small pile of early spring apples. "Guten morgen, gnädige Frau. How are you today?"
She peered up at Max over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, her bright green eyes meeting his brown ones for a moment before she pushed the smoked lenses back into place. "Ach, mein Herr. It would be a nice day for a walk if not for my rheumatism. And it would be an even nicer day if you didn't charge so much for your apples! Two pfennigs apiece? Why, that's unheard of!"
The grocer shrugged, his hands raising and falling helplessly. "What can I say? It is the war, meine Dame."
'Ja, I suppose that is how it is." Despite her complaint about the prices, the old lady put several of the apples onto the scale, mumbling to herself about their small size even as Max took them off the scale and put them into a paper sack. She made her way to the counter and handed the grocer a small scrap of paper that he handed back after a quick glance. Her sharp eyes darted toward the front door as Max put together the rest of her order, working from the list he'd just read. When he was finished with that, and was making a note on the running tab he kept for her account, she started putting her packages into her string bag. "So, Herr Dietz, do you think you could use your telephone to call my granddaughter and let her know I'm ready to meet her for lunch?"
"What do you think I am running here? A public telephone service?" Max spluttered indignantly. He glared at the old lady just long enough to make his point, then picked up the ear piece and cranked the handle of the old-fashioned wall mounted phone. "Ja, Gestapo Headquarters, bitte," he said into the microphone. Nodding to himself as the connection was completed, he smiled as a young woman's voice came on the line. "Fräulein Lisel, this is Max. Your grandmother is here, saying as usual that I am cheating her! Do you think you can get free for lunch so she will go away and take her complaints with her?" The grocer paused to listen to the reply, and his smile grew wider on hearing it. "Wonderful! I'll tell her right away. Danke, Fräulein, auf Wiedersehen." A slight pause. "Oh yes, Heil Hitler!"
Max went back to his counter, placing both hands on it as he leaned forward to look the old lady in the eye. "There, you see, meine Dame? Even though all you do is complain about my prices, I still make your phone calls. Your granddaughter will meet you for lunch in about fifteen minutes."
Smiling, the old lady reached over and patted one of the grocer's hands with her own mesh-gloved one. "Danke, mein Herr. You are such a nice boy, even if you do have such a bad temper." She gave Max's hand a final pat, then gathered up her bag and slowly left the shop.
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Colonel Robert Hogan, senior Prisoner of War at Stalag Luft 13 leaned against the wall of Barracks Two, enjoying the warmth of the noonday sun on the dark brown leather of his flying jacket. With his garrison cap pulled down to shade his eyes, the American officer at first appeared to be paying no attention to the lively conversation going on just a few feet away. The grin that broke out across his face gave the lie to that, however, and that grin was caused by the fact that two of the men had suddenly switched to French to continue their discussion.
Corporal Louis Le Beau gave Sergeant James Kinchloe a sidelong look, then burst out laughing at what the American had just said. The Frenchman wrung out the shirt he was holding, then dropped it into the basket of clean laundry before his hands came up to describe an hourglass shape in the air. The rapid stream of Le Beau's native language quickly went beyond Hogan's high school French classes, but the words that he was able to pick out plus the hand motion told him the two men were talking about one of the two most common topics of conversation in camp. And this time around, it certainly wasn't about the food.
Kinchloe grinned as he watched Le Beau's hands, then came right back at him in French that while it had an American accent, it was every bit as fluent as the native Parisian's own. The two went back and forth, the conversation becoming more intense until the laundry was forgotten and the discussion became rather involved.
When the men were standing toe-to-toe and going at each other non-stop, Hogan decided to step in. "All right, fellas," he said as he stepped over to where they were and picked up the basket of clean clothes. The Colonel turned and pushed the basket into Kinchloe's hands, grinning at the startled look that came across the black Sergeant's face even as he automatically grabbed hold of the handles. "Look, if you two are gonna talk about girls, can you at least do it in a language that the rest of us understand?" Hogan's voice and words, while clearly teasing the two men, had a slightly wistful quality about them that put an almost plaintive tone to the good-natured remark. "Meanwhile, Kinch, why don't you run those clothes over to the guys that are hangin' the stuff on the lines? That'll give you a chance to cool off after whatever it was you two were saying."
"Yeah, sure Colonel," Kinch grinned and shot a look at the Frenchman. "Hold that thought, Louis, 'cause I want to hear more about her when I get back." The Sergeant laughed as he tucked the clothes basket under his arm and headed across the compound.
Hogan watched Kinch leave, then turned to Le Beau, putting his hands on his hips and favoring the Corporal with a smile. "And as for you-"
Even though he was a foot shorter than the American, the Frenchman wasn't the least bit intimidated by the Colonel's stance. Le Beau threw his hands up in the air and nodded rapidly. "Oui, mon Colonel. Je parlai l'anglaise. J'ai besoin de la pratique en tout cas."
The Colonel ran that through the memories of his long-ago high school lessons and smiled after a moment. "That's right, you do need the practice with English." Hogan picked up a pair of buckets that stood nearby, then nodded to the ones still on the ground. "While Kinch is making his delivery, why don't you and I get some clean water for the next batch?" With that, Hogan headed for the water tower, leaving Le Beau to grab the other buckets and follow.
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The little old lady sat in the dining room at the Hauserhoff, with a pot of tea and two cups on her table while she waited for her lunch companion to arrive. Her net shopping bag and drawstring reticule lay on an empty chair by her side, but she kept her shawl drawn close around her shoulders as if chilled even on this fine spring day. Picking up her cup, she took a sip of tea as her eyes surveyed the room.
There had been a few other people already seated when she had entered the hotel's dining room, but they were all simply local citizens taking time out for an early lunch. None of them were of any interest to the gnädige Frau, but the Fräulein that walked in a few minutes later certainly was. She nodded as the young, blonde haired woman came to the table and took a seat.
"Guten abend, Großmutter." Lisel Weiss smiled at the little old lady seated across from her. "Have you been well?" she asked as she set her purse on the same chair already occupied by the older woman's belongings.
"Ja, ja. I'm well enough, Enkelin," she replied, making a delicate motion with her hand as if brushing off her granddaughter's concerns about her health.
The two ladies made small talk over their luncheon, clearly enjoying themselves even though Lisel kept glancing toward the door. The blonde kept up her smile and pleasant conversation, but the elder woman could see that the smile did not cover the worried expression in the younger woman's eyes.
After taking a sip of tea to cover the concerned look that came across her face, the old lady turned to her granddaughter and repeated the question that the younger woman obviously hadn't heard. "Have you received a letter from your brother Heinrich lately, Lisel dear?"
The blonde started slightly, drawing her eyes from the restaurant's doorway and focussing on the old lady once more. "Oh, ja, Großmutter. I have it right here." With that, Lisel picked up her purse, opened it and withdrew a thick envelope that she placed on the table between them. "He is so pleased to know that I give you his letters after I've read them. It can be very hard for him to find the time to write, after all, because he is so busy with the war and all. This way he can keep in touch with both of us at the same time."
The old lady smiled as she picked up the envelope, nodding absently as she tucked it carefully into her reticule. "Ach, ja. I remember how hard it was for my darling Rudolph to send me a letter when he was away fighting for the Kaiser in the last war." She sighed softly, and dabbed a tear from the corner of her green eye with her napkin before she went on. "I treasured every scrap he ever sent. I still have them, you know. All tied up nice and neatly with a lovely bit of ribbon he'd sent to me inside one of the envelopes."
Lisel smiled softly, and reached over to pat the old lady's hand gently. "And I would dearly love to read all of them some day, if you would let me. Großvater Rudolph sounds like a wonderful man; I wish I could have known him."
"One day, Enkelin, perhaps I shall let you read them." The old lady moved her other hand to lay it on Lisel's before she went on. "I don't know, my dear," she paused as a coy smile crossed her face for the briefest moment. "There are the kinds of things in them that a young man says to his wife that may not be fit for such a young lady as yourself to read. But I shall think about it and let you know, since you've shown an interest."
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Kinch and Le Beau were back to both scrubbing clothes and talking about girls when Hans Schultz, Sergeant of the Guard at Stalag 13 came across the compound. Hogan had resumed his place, leaning against the barracks with one foot propped up on the wall. With the bill of his cap once again down over his eyes, and his mind on pleasant thoughts that involved a brunette, a bottle of wine, and being any place except the prison camp, the American officer didn't realize that Schultz was there until the German cleared his throat. "Ah, excuse me, Colonel Hogan, where is the Englander, Corporal Newkirk?"
Hogan reached up and shoved his cap back, letting it rest on his head at a decidedly non-regulation angle as he sighed. "You interrupted a very nice daydream to ask me that? Why do you want to know anyway, Schultz? Do you owe him from last night's poker game or something?"
"Nein, Colonel, I didn't get to play last night because I was on guard duty." Schultz lifted his hands in shrug, then went on. "The Kommandant wishes to see him."
Though neither Kinch nor Le Beau stopped what they were doing, they were listening to the conversation, and they too were curious as to why their fellow prisoner was being sought by Colonel Klink. Military protocol and the rules laid out in the Geneva Convention limited the amount of contact that the enlisted men had with the Kommandant. Any necessary business was conducted between the prisoners and their captors by the senior officer among the POWs and the commanding officer of the camp. It was unusual for Klink to be asking after a specific prisoner, and since that prisoner was Newkirk, it could only mean trouble.
Raising an eyebrow ever so slightly, Hogan gave Schultz a shrug in return. "I'm not sure where he is right now. Why does Klink want to see him anyway?" As usual, the American was lying through his teeth when he told the German that he didn't know where the Englishman was. Hogan knew exactly where Newkirk was; or rather, where he was supposed to be.
"The Kommandant has been invited to a party in town this weekend to celebrate the birthday of our beloved Führer. He ordered a new dress uniform from the tailor, but the fit is terrible and he is very upset that he won't be able to wear it for the party." Schultz shook his head and sighed. "Ach, you should have heard him going on about it, Colonel Hogan!"
"What's this got to do with Newkirk?" Hogan folded his arms over his chest and shook his head as well. "Just tell Klink to go back to the tailor and have it redone."
"Nein, nein, nein! I suggested that myself and the Kommandant got very angry about it. He had already called the tailor shop, and it turns out that they're already booked solid with other officers who are also getting their uniforms ready for the party."
Hogan's eyebrow went up a bit more. "You still haven't said what this has to do with Newkirk, Schultz."
"Well, you know how good the Englander is with a needle and thread. I have seen him working on some of the prisoner's clothing, and he has sewn on a few buttons for me from time to time, so I mentioned this to the Kommandant. Now he wishes to see Newkirk in his office right away."
"Honestly, Schultz, I really don't know where he is right now." Hogan turned to Kinch and Le Beau, his slight nod inviting them to chime in. "You fellas got any ideas on that?"
"Well, I don't know, Colonel." Kinch dropped the shirt he was washing back into the tub and picked up a towel. Stalling for time to think, the Sergeant carefully dried his hands before saying anything else. "I think he said something about working in the motorpool today, but I'm not sure."
The Frenchman gave the pair of long underwear he was wringing out a few extra twists as he appeared to give serious consideration to both Hogan's question and Kinch's response. "You might be correct, mon ami. I remember him saying something about the motorpool, but you know how Newkirk is." Le Beau shrugged and looked back to Hogan.
"There you go, Schultz." Hogan gave the German an easy grin and patted him on a broad shoulder, using the contact to turn Schultz and give him a slight push in the direction of the motorpool. "Why don't you try going over there and finding out. If he's not there, come back and see me about it, ok?"
As soon as Schultz got out of earshot, Hogan motioned for Kinch and Le Beau to come closer. "Great job there, guys." He took a look at his watch and frowned. "We've still got at least half an hour before Newkirk's due back, so we're gonna have to stall for a while. Kinch, get over to the motorpool and tell the guys there to tell Schultz that they think Newkirk might be over at the camp bakery. Le Beau, I want you to go to the bakery and tell them to send Schultz over to where that work detail is fixing the roof on Barracks 52. Along the way, I want you to spread the word for Flight Sergeant Sheffield and his gang to report to me here as soon as possible."