Author's Voice:
I'm nervous as hell!
I'm not sure how this fic happened. They started showing reruns of Hogan's Heroes over here and I thought, hey, nostalgia calling, let's watch! Even if the dub is somewhat silly sometimes. They changed a lot of dialog.
Then my muse climbed out of hibernation, started coming up with this insane story idea, and when it was bad enough that I kept visualizing scenes, I started to take notes. Which started a writing binge of epic proportions. Right down to finishing 10 k in 24 hours.
Due to the fact that I had never seen HH episodes other than in dubbed versions, I binge-watched them on youtube. Bad idea. Really bad idea.
I have no clue if anyone will really read this, since it's an AU I haven't seen here before, and the fandom appears to be rather small. Anyway, I'm throwing this out here because I wrote it and even if one person thinks it's worth reading and gives it a chance, I'll be happy. So have at it.
Please: AU! Don't go flaming! Just the fact that this is a Sentinel/Guide thing should tell you AU, AU, AU! I can't repet it enough! Anyone who knows my writing probably also knows to expect a little different take on the Sentinel thing. I like to experiment :)
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Summary:
This is how it is: Hogan and his men are the devious operatives, working underneath Klink's nose. Sabotage, thefts and whatever else London orders. Klink is the inept POW camp commander with a perfect non-escape record they can manipulate to work in their favor. Perfect cover. No one ever expected anything to change. Especially not in the way it did. With a bang, not a whimper. With a revelation that changes everything.
Especially for a special operations military Sentinel trained to work alone. Someone who thought he had everything under control, who knew the players in this game they were playing. Fact is: he didn't. When things go extremely sideways for Hogan because he makes a big mistake in front of a Gestapo Sentinel, the help he receives comes from the last place he expected. It turns is world upside down and inside out.
They just might not survive it.
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It had been a long, long time since Robert E. Hogan, United States Army Air Force, had had a zone out or dropped into a kind of haze because one of his senses had fired up and couldn't be controlled.
Ages.
Ever, actually.
He couldn't remember things getting so bad it went past his natural defenses, took him out for good, left him vulnerable.
Not even getting shot down and captured by the Germans had triggered him.
Hardly anything ever had in all his life.
It wasn't that he was completely self-contained in his senses. No, he had to learn a lot about himself and his abilities after joining the US Army at a very early age. What Robert had been able to do without the help of a skilled Guide was a talent only few Sentinels possessed: he could handle himself. His mind was strong enough to build natural barriers, though such talent came at a price.
The military always actively looked for such talent, for Sentinels that could be thrown into about any kind of situation without a partner, make it out alive and without zoning, and they trained them.
Relentlessly.
Such talent was usually found with strong minds, strong characters, fast thinking, quick on the uptake, highly adaptable, and only military material on paper. Sentinels were commanding, yes. Perfect soldiers in so many ways. But those working autonomously, as specialists – or troubleshooters, as they became known – had a problem with authority.
Hogan had been no exception. People had to earn his respect and he was downright insubordinate in his ways, but also charming, very skilled in manipulations, and his success rate filled pages upon pages.
They gave him to Special Ops. Special Ops, the troubleshooters, wanted Sentinels that didn't need a partner, a Guide, except to decompress, and even that could be handled by anyone trained to do it.
Even the Sentinel himself, if he had the necessary safe place and the time.
It was something Hogan had been doing all his life: take care of himself.
So yes, troubleshooters didn't need anyone. Troubleshooters had to rely on themselves because a Guide was a weakness, a liability, a danger to the mission.
One of his trainers had once described his condition as an endless, unbroken loop. Nothing could interfere as long as Hogan kept up his training and mental exercises.
He was good at that. Really good.
Looping became an official name for what they did not much later. Just another name for something science had yet to classify.
"You might not ever need a Guide, Hogan," the Sentinel who had trained him had told him one evening after rigorous training. "You're very strong. Alpha material. You're a natural leader."
The praise had him give his trademark smirk.
"Just be careful. Don't overdo it. Find time to decompress."
"Textbook," he only remarked.
Because military Sentinels were constantly bombarded with sensations, always on guard, always tense and ready to spring into action. They had no one to lean on. They had only themselves.
Hogan liked that kind of life. He thrived on it.
His old instructor grimaced. "Yeah, which so many of you kids disregard. But don't throw it out. The rules are there for a reason. And remember that you're not invincible. There are strong minds out there."
"I'm not drawn to them."
There had been a parade of them at the training center and everywhere he had been sent to continue his combat training. They challenged him, but none had ever managed to break the Loop.
"Just sayin', kid. Guys like you, the specialists and impossible mission operatives, don't last forever. A year into a mission and symptoms show. Two years? That would be a long time running the show. You'll start unravelling. Decompressing will take longer, will be more difficult. Pull out before it gets you, Hogan."
"I've never needed anyone."
The older man nodded. "You're exceptional, I give you that, but not completely self-contained. No Sentinel is. We're not made that way. Guides, sure. They can be. You have a powerful mind that keeps you alive. Just heed my warning: go by the books, Hogan. Troubleshooters can be shot down."
HH*HH*
Sure, they could. Like all covert ops they lived a dangerous life.
Hogan ran his first few missions flawlessly. He rose quickly through the ranks, became a full colonel at an age where most were still working captain.
Eval spoke of his strength, of his focus, how fast he thought on his feet and how he had incorporated his senses into his life. They still pitched him against Guides, wanted to see if he connected, because even his kind of mind could find a permanent anchor.
No one ever fit.
He liked it that way.
When he had been assigned to run a covert operation involved with espionage and sabotage out of Stalag 13, Hogan had come without a Guide. Command had orchestrated his capture, his placement in this very Stalag, and everything around him. His close inner circle was aware of who and what he was and the crew had been trained in all kinds of Sentinel first aid.
Getting him out of a fugue had been one of those scenarios, but up until that fateful moment, no one had had to ever do it.
They made it back from their dark-of-the-night covert operation just in the nick of time, dragging their completely out of it commander with them. Newkirk and Carter hauled him out of the tunnel and into the barracks, just as Schultz was hollering for roll-call.
"Bloody hell," Newkirk hissed. "Now what?"
Carter gave a helpless shrug.
"Everyone out, out, out!" Schultz ordered as he stomped into the barracks, stopping short as he discovered Hogan. "What is wrong with him?"
"Uh, something he ate?" Carter tried, looking guileless.
Schultz gave him a scowl, but he appeared a little unsure.
"Maybe a virus? It could be contagious," Newkirk added, sniffling for show. "Been feeling a tad bit under the weather myself lately."
"No, no, no. Everyone out! I'm not falling for this!"
"But he's really sick!"
"I will be in so much trouble if not everyone it out!" the sergeant complained. "Please, just get him outside?"
The men exchanged worried glances, but Kinch finally pulled up their lethargic looking Colonel and they made it out into the night. Lights were flooding the ground and the guards were keeping an eye on matters as Klink stalked out of his office, squinting at the assembly.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Uh, all men accounted for," Schultz reported.
"What is wrong with Colonel Hogan?"
"He's sick," Newkirk piped up. "Bad flu bug."
"Sick? From what?" the Kommandant demanded. "There hasn't been a sniffle or sneeze in this camp in weeks!"
"So it was about time for one of us to catch something," LeBeau explained unhelpfully. "Mon Colonel was the one who volunteered."
Klink came over, scowling, then snapped sharply, "Colonel Hogan! I won't have you playacting your way into a trip to the doctor in town for whatever reason you are planning to be there!"
Hogan blinked, a quizzical sound escaping his throat. Klink leaned closer, eyes narrowed with a suspicious expression.
"I am not in the mood for your bad acting, Colonel Hogan. Do me the favor and stop it!"
Hogan startled, eyes wide, and he stared at Klink. "What…?"
"Aha! I knew it! I just knew it!"
Kinch, who had been holding him up as much as he could, shot their commanding officer and resident Sentinel a surprised, almost shocked look.
"Klink?" Hogan managed.
"Yes. I can see you are well. That kind of ruse won't work on me! No one escapes this Stalag, not even you, in some faked attempt to be seen by an outside doctor. Now, no more playing around. I expect you and your men to be up and ready early tomorrow morning to sweep the camp! The place looks like a pigsty!"
He turned on his heels, ordering Schultz to return the prisoners to their barracks, before anyone could understand what had happened.
Least of all Hogan, who blinked almost owlishly at his men as they went back into the barracks.
"Colonel?" Newkirk asked quietly. "You okay?"
"What…?"
"You zoned."
"I… oh…"
"We had no clue how to get you out. You just snapped out of it. Throughout roll-call."
"Huh."
"You okay?" Kinchloe repeated Newkirk's question.
"Yeah. I… a bit out of it, but okay. What happened?"
"Not sure. No one was with you. We found you in a ditch. You still moved, but you weren't there, Colonel. I thought it was a medium zone, but you were kinda locked in there."
"Huh."
"You really okay?"
"I feel fine, Kinch." He clapped the other man's shoulder and gave his men a tight smile. "Think I'll get some real rest now. Thanks for the cover, guys. Perfect execution."
And then he was in his private room.
The men exchanged confused looks.
"What happened out there?" Newkirk asked.
"No clue. I thought we had really lost him." Kinch stared at the door, then shrugged. "We better grab some sleep before tomorrow. Colonel's orders."
They moved to their bunks, no one truly satisfied with the explanation as to how their Sentinel had recovered, but no one wanted to theorize much longer. It had been luck and a whole lot of more luck.
HH*HH*HH*HH*HH*HH*HH*HH*
By next morning things had gone back to normal. Absolutely normal.
Hogan was still confused as to how he had gotten into this mess. The last thing he remembered was waiting for a resistance contact, then nothing, and finally coming around to Klink staring at him like Hogan was there personally for him to make his life harder.
This had never happened before.
Ever.
The one time he had been pushed into a bad zone had been in early trainings, but never since then.
He had spent the night sleeping soundly, his senses realigning themselves with practiced ease. He fell back on his military training, using focal points of his choosing, sinking into a brief meditative state as he pulled in each sense and relaxed into the well-known territory that was Stalag 13.
His territory.
One he had lasted in without problem for months now, over a year actually, heading onward to two.
It had always worked so far. At least when he was rudimentarily still aware of what was going on.
So how had it happened this time?
Maybe it had been a subconscious reaction on his part while nearly in a zone, using one of his men. Maybe training had kicked in and pushed him back into the safety of the Loop.
Maybe.
Hogan blew out a breath, opening his eyes and going through sense exercises. Sight, hearing, smell and touch. All fine. Taste had never been top-notch, which was just fine in such an environment, and his instructor had once jokingly called him a 4 ½ senses Sentinel.
He got out of his bed, dressed and rejoined his men, feeling on top of the world again.
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Kinch looked still too worried for Hogan's liking when he found him in the tunnels, over the radio, listening to chatter. He put down the headset, fixing his commanding officer with serious eyes.
"You zoned, Colonel. For real. That's not good."
And it shouldn't happen to a skilled and seasoned operative, was the unspoken addition. At least someone who took care of himself and his senses.
He thought he had.
Apparently he hadn't and it had come back to bite him.
Hogan wondered if back-to-back missions, shuttling downed pilots out of Germany, helping defectors escape and blowing up important tracks and bridges, had been too much.
He didn't think so, but the more he thought about it, the more he believed it possible. Too much lately. There had been no time to do the most basic of anchoring and he had paid for it.
Hogan rubbed at one temple. "Wish I had an answer, Kinch. I thought I had done everything right."
"Evidence says not so much."
"I think I'll need some decompression time," the colonel agreed ruefully. "Looks like my head finally exploded."
Kinch gave a little snort. "You think? We got lucky, Colonel."
Very lucky, yes. Maybe there had been too many complex, near-impossible situations to handle. They had made it out on top, getting to their objective, eliminating targets and foiling plans, but it had taken a toll.
On him.
He couldn't be off his game like that again. If the German patrols had found him… The Gestapo would have a field day interrogating an American Sentinel.
"You do that. Think you need me?" his second in command asked.
"No. I'll be fine."
Kinch nodded and went back to listening.
Yes, Hogan knew he had to take care of himself, remember training.
Part of him still puzzled as to what had pulled him out, though.
He was the only Sentinel in the POW camp. The highest rank, a full Colonel who hadn't been traded for anyone on the other side, who hadn't been moved to a different Stalag. Anyone identifying as a Sentinel had been quickly moved, shuttled through the underground and away from Stalag 13.
No Guides had been revealed either. Kinch was the only one he used as a base line, and even that was hit or miss because the man wasn't a Guide. He had some ancestry in that regard, but it had never shown in him.
Hogan blew out a breath.
Time to make an appearance, get the clean-up started, then find a moment or two of alone time to handle the fallout of last night.
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There was little time to think about matters, aside from really taking the time he needed to find his focus. A truck full of Red Cross supplies finally came in, including blankets and mattresses they really needed. Some barracks' stoves were replaced, which was a surprise.
"You're too good to us," he told Klink as he breezed into the man's office again, full of insolent charm and teasing remarks. "What did we do to deserve that?"
Klink scowled at him. "Can't you ever be thankful and not suspect something?"
"Is there something to suspect?"
"No. Now leave. I have work to do."
Hogan let his eyes sweep around the neat office, over the maps on the walls, the files. "Anything exciting?" he asked innocently.
"Nothing you should concern yourself with."
"I mean, I could help. Nothing much else to do, right?"
"Out!" Klink ordered. "Just leave!"
"And here I thought you liked my company."
"You are a nuisance!"
"I do my very best. So that's a no?"
"No!"
"No to the no or is that a yes hidden in a no?"
"Hogan! Out! Out of my sight!"
"Yes, sir!"
He gave a sloppy salute and was out the door, winking at Hilda, and back to the barracks before Klink was done yelling some more.
That had felt good.
Lifting his spirits actually.
Business as usual.
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He had played his role for as long as he could remember. From childhood to now, from hiding under the radar the moment his abilities manifested, through the rise of Hitler to power and the war. He hid and operated from behind that perfectly crafted façade, had done all in his power to undermine the Reich and help the Allied Forces.
Even if Colonel Robert E. Hogan didn't make it easy.
The man was a nuisance on a good day and a nail to his coffin on less than good days. He downright cursed the American's existence when things went really bad.
Which happened from time to time.
Actually, almost every week, Monday to Friday. With the occasional weekend respite.
Protecting him and his crew was of utmost importance. The base of their operations, his Stalag, needed to be both secure and yet not too perfect. He needed to be inept, a bit dimwitted, cowardly, and often clueless and rather gullible on one side, but cunning, secretive and fast-thinking on the other. His background was solid, his line of descent decent enough for him to rise through the ranks as if only outside influence had helped him along, and while he would have excelled at his chosen fields of studies, he had given them up like so much already. He had voluntarily failed his entrance exams.
Because Colonel Wilhelm Klink needed to hide everything he was and be everything he had never wanted to be, if he had had a choice.
Of an old aristocratic line, but poor and without influential advocates to advance his rank, Klink was unimportant enough to be ignored, to be cast aside, to be made fun of. His uncle had made sure that he ended up in a military academy where everyone knew that the only reason he had been there was that the uncle was the mayor's barber.
Klink graduated in the lower nineties of his class. Ninety-fifth, actually. Laughable, but ensuring his survival.
He had seen his former class mates get killed as they rose in rank, as they became too good or not good enough, were suspected of treason or crimes.
Klink was a blind spot. He was invisible, rarely ever suspected of true intelligence, and his so-called connections to
Just as planned.
No one could have planned on the special operative they would get into the camp, the Military Sentinel. Colonel Robert Hogan. A man who was truly skilled, who operated with such a high success rate, he was entitled to be cocky sometimes. Well, he was cocky most of the time.
Sure, he had to grab him and drag him out of a mess or two by the neck, figuratively speaking, but he was good.
Klink had thought he would last a few months, then a replacement would be sent in. Even autonomous Sentinels needed decompression time, to be pulled out of assignments to realign their senses, balance themselves, then get back into business.
But Command kept him there.
Klink thought it was insane.
The German colonel had never contacted the Allied Command directly if not absolutely necessary. The risk was too great, his cover too deep.
He had done so twice concerning the Sentinel in his camp now. Each time he had been told to handle the situation. They knew what Wilhelm Klink was and they had given him permission to reveal himself.
Fools. Absolute idiots!
Still, Hogan kept running the operation with charm, skill, intelligence, some luck on occasions, and without failures.
He was good. Really good.
Yes, some of his schemes were outrageous and even Klink wondered if he hadn't gone insane, but it worked. Sometimes with a little exaggerated acting on his part, doing his best to distract from Hogan's crew, but it worked.
Six months into their cooperation, of which Hogan knew nothing, the first falters occurred. Klink was annoyed that London still didn't listen, so he did his own damage control.
It wasn't hard.
His abilities were good enough and he wasn't detected.
A year into the operation and it got a little more tricky. The man was under constant pressure and it was starting to show.
Klink knew he could snap Hogan out of a fugue state with his voice alone. He ordered him into his office when Hogan's actions spoke of how he frayed at the edges, invited him to chess games that forced him to focus, or gave him small tasks that required his mind to sharpen. The Sentinel reacted to him, which was worrisome sometimes, but he didn't try to think about it. He was here, had been placed here, because of his inability to connect and his absolute unwillingness to let himself fall into such a connection.
That required trust.
Absolute trust.
And an intimacy he wasn't ready to give.
So Klink worked from the shadows, unseen, as before. He did what he could, stayed true to his image. He did what he could without giving away the fact that he a) knew what was going on, every detail of it and was b) the balancing factor Hogan needed when it got too bad.
Everything worked swimmingly… to a degree, sometimes, but it worked. For almost two years.
HH*HH*
Until Johannes Rothenburg. Gestapo Sentinel, ruthlessly trained to be even more ruthless, looking for the underground and sniffing around his camp.
Looking for trouble.
And finding Klink.
Because of Hogan.
For all his laying low and flying under even the American Sentinel's radar, Klink had allowed himself to become… attached, for lack of a better word.
It was the very first mistake he made in his life as an invisible Guide.
He had warded off zones and fugue states, had cursed the grade A annoyance that was Robert Hogan for making his life and work so much harder because he kept running into situations that were hard on any Sentinel's senses, let alone one of Hogan's caliber. It was once bad enough that he sent the insolent man to the cooler to give him twenty-four hours to basically get his act together, center himself, and it still showed later on.
Klink wondered how badly London wanted to keep the headstrong operative in the game to risk burning him. So he did everything for the man to stay in the game.
What he hadn't counted on was Hogan losing his cool in front of Rothenburg.
Because of a girl, because his protective instincts got the better of him. Probably because he had been overdoing it again after getting back on his mental feet. London had sent him impossible assignments and Hogan had jumped right in, the challenge too much to ignore.
He needed the little kicks and thrills.
He also needed a Guide. Nothing London could tell him convinced Klink that Hogan would last much longer under these conditions, no matter how subtly he tried to help. Matters were spiraling out of control and the troubleshooter was burning up.
The Gestapo Sentinels had pretty little Guides for that, burning through them like fire through paper, leaving them broken and dead inside in their wake. They served as temporary anchors until they lost their use.
Hogan had a group of men who knew how to handle him, but none with a grain of ability for the fine-tuning. None of them could serve as an anchor for the Sentinel to just let himself fall and trust them.
So, Rothenburg.
A Sentinel who had the most common of senses, Sight and Hearing, found in Sentinel kind. A cold-blooded killer. Who came to the camp for what he called an inspection of an outstanding prison camp where no one had ever escaped, because they were looking for a place to keep special prisoners and Stalag 13 had such a perfect record.
Who was in the company of two assistants and a young woman.
A girl, really.
Probably no older than sixteen.
Klink didn't have to guess or ask who and what she was: a Guide. There for the pleasure of the Sentinel, to be abused when he needed to realign his senses or sate his pleasures. She was decoration. She was a token, a sign to tell others that he didn't need a seasoned Guide, that such a little girl was all it took.
If he had bonded her, it would be a one-sided connection, chaining her to him, and her death would mean nothing to his mental state. Or Rothenburg was already so far gone that it didn't matter.
Klink was seething inside, but he needed to be his inept, slightly bumbling self.
HH*HH*
The problem was, someone slipped.
The Sentinel in their midst.
Hogan took one look at the girl and Klink saw the hard edge settle in the dark eyes, saw his stance shift, felt the first eddies of a protective Sentinel about to go off at another one.
The girl was radiating distress, had no shields to speak of, and Klink would have soothed her if it didn't give him away. She had been abused for years, everything taken away from her to be open and receptive to whomever wanted to use her empathic skills, which also left her open to be bombarded by every emotion around her.
Hogan was reacting to that.
He was a true protector, encompassing all a Sentinel should be. He should be more contained, really. He should have let it wash over him, ignore it, be neutral.
But instinct took over.
So Klink slipped as well. Consciously.
And Rothenburg's senses, alerted by Hogan's mistake, honed in on him.
"You…" he growled, surprise twisting his narrow features into an ugly visage.
The girl, always a step behind him, shrank back. Her eyes were huge, her mouth opening, but there was no sound coming out.
"You are…?" He laughed harshly. "I do not believe for a moment that you are a Sentinel!"
Klink gave the man his best confused look. "I assure you, Major, I am not."
Rothenburg was suddenly in his face, his two assistants tensing, the girl curling in on herself from the outpour of negative energy that was radiating off her Sentinel.
"You are challenging me? A major of the Gestapo? Your superior in so many ways?"
"I assure you, Major Rothenburg, I do not," Klink whined, trying for submissive and aware that he was starting to fail here. For the very first time he was failing.
Because Hogan hadn't been able to keep his reactions in check!
Curse the man!
His second mistake. Probably his last, Klink mused, brain firing on all cylinders. Years he had kept himself hidden. Against all odds. Surviving hunts for his kind, surviving the raids and the propaganda.
Now, because of one American Sentinel, he had given that up.
Without hesitation.
With a little more time to think about his reaction he might understand the decision. But time he didn't have.
Fact was, it went from bad to really bad to abysmally-worse-than-he-could-ever imagine in a heartbeat.
Rothenburg's hand snapped up and he suddenly had his fingers around Klink's throat, pushing him back and squeezing hard.
"No one takes what is mine," he hissed. "Least of all cowards like you, Klink! She is mine! You should know your place!"
A lot happened all at once.
Hogan stepped forward, the movement involuntary, his eyes narrowed slits and his lips curling away from his teeth in a snarl.
Just that started a cascade of events.
His men made a grab for him, voices loud in Klink's ears as his own blood pounded through his body, his heart hammering.
Schultz's guards suddenly raised their weapons, unsure where to aim, the prisoners or the assailant of their Kommandant.
Schultz himself, eyes comically wide, waved at them to stop.
The Gestapo men had their own guns out, pointing them at the prisoners and the restless soldiers.
There was a loud commotion from the dogs in the kennels.
And there was a surge of power as Hogan reacted to the threat of the Gestapo Sentinel, who turned his head a fraction, baring even white teeth, searching for the source of the well-known psychic disturbance.
Klink's instinctive reaction was… unlike him. With a rather smooth and very practiced blow he removed the hand around his throat, startling everyone watching the confrontation.
Red marks remained, but he ignored the bruised feeling, mind primed and narrowing down toward the threat.
"Do not touch me," he said icily.
Rothenburg snarled viciously, eyes cold, pupils mere dots.
"You dare challenge me over her? Weak little mockery of a German officer that you are? You want her for yourself?" He laughed. "I won her in a fight, you know. I killed her prior Sentinel. He was just as weak as you are. You want her? Kill me and she's yours. Even as defective as you are, Klink, you should know the rules of a Sentinel challenge!" The grin was fearsome and sharp.
Klink knew he had only one chance to get through this and that was to walk into it with all he was, throwing caution and survival instinct to the wind, fingers crossed, keeping Rothenburg away from Hogan. As long as the Major believed that Klink was the Sentinel, weak and probably barely one sense, this could still work.
To protect the Allied operative.
tbc...