Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes. I am not making any money off of this; it's strictly for entertainment.
AN: Before you get started I want to say that this is a bit out of canon. It does not follow the events of the episode, D-day At Stalag 13. I reject that episode completely - as it was incredibly out there, even for a '60s sitcom. -_-
Night of June the 5th, 1944
The back room of the Paris bakery was bustling with activity. The broadcast from *Radio Londres had finally come in fifteen minutes ago and messages were being dispatched all over France. Marie-Louise Monet - codenamed Tiger - and Lieutenant Maurice DuBois were going over the list of train junctions, bridges, telephone wires, etc, and were assigning Resistance members their targets.
"That junction is close to Nouvion," she said, studying the map for a moment before looking up to meet DuBois' gaze with a twinkle in her eyes. "Give it to Nighthawk."
He grinned, jotting a check beside the list then turning back to the map on the table. "And this one, the train trestle on the Rhine? We don't have anyone close enough since Bluebeard was discovered."
Tiger didn't hesitate. "Papa Bear."
DuBois checked his watch. All missions were to be completed by 03:00 hours and it was 23:30 now. "Do you think he'll have enough time?"
"Papa Bear," she repeated, more firmly this time and DuBois nodded, placing the check.
H~H
Sergeant Richard Baker sat bent over his paper, studying the crossword and the clue. Seven-letter word for autonomy, fifth letter D. He chewed on his thumbnail as he thought. It was quiet, as it often was on the 20:00 – 02:00 shift. He yawned then checked his watch. 23:47. Two more hours until Kinch came down to relieve him.
The Underground contacted Papa Bear on a specific schedule: once at 18:00 hours and once at 06:00 hours. The only other times they would radio was if there was an emergency. London's schedule on the other hand was pretty much whenever they pleased. Which was why he found himself in a damp, dimly lit tunnel squinting to fill in a crossword puzzle and guzzling coffee in a futile attempt to remain awake. A sharp series of beeps started to emanate from the radio. Baker ceased working the puzzle and began to jot down letters he identified from the Morse Code.
*Bercent mon coeur d'une langueur monotone stop
49 stop 549295 by 8 stop 419272 stop
0300 heures stop
He sent back a quick acknowledgment before springing up to give three sharp raps on the wood frame that held the ladder and bunk setup. After a few seconds the ladder descended and he climbed at an alarmingly fast pace, tripping partway up, but recovering. He handed the paper off to Kinch, who stood at the bunk with LeBeau by his side. Kinch read it over, instantly recognizing the French. It was the next lines to a poem he'd received during a routine transmission on the 1st.
He took it into the Colonel, Baker and LeBeau following. He didn't bother to knock, for he had a feeling that this was something big. He couldn't explain it, but he knew it was big. "Colonel," he said softly, laying his hand on Hogan's arm.
Hogan jerked awake and sat up, mumbling tiredly. "What is it?"
"Transmission from the Resistance."
Hogan took the paper and read it. Any trace of sleep vanished as he read it again. The Resistance had been hinting at this for the last two months and they prepared by spreading the word, discreetly, to all the sabotage groups that this was the go signal. He swung his legs down and dropped onto the floor, reaching for the darkening curtain. "Kinch," he said, pointing to the lamp. He dropped the curtain just as Kinch switched on the desk lamp. "LeBeau, get the navigator's map of Germany."
LeBeau dug into the locker to get the map as Newkirk appeared in the doorway. "What's going on?" he asked, his cigarette hanging from the corner off his mouth. He'd been awake smoking when Baker had come up from the tunnel.
"Message from the French Resistance," Kinch said, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't distract the Colonel, who was bent over the map figuring the longitude and latitude. "Is Carter up," he asked. Newkirk shook his head. "Better get him up," Kinch said. "We may need him."
Newkirk moved noiselessly back into the common room. He noticed several of the guys were awake, some propped up on one elbow, listening to what was going on. He reached the bunks he shared with Carter and shook the pyrotechnician. "Andrew," he said softly, knowing that Schultz was just outside the door, though likely sleeping.
Carter rolled his shoulder out of Newkirk's grasp and muttered under his breath. Newkirk continued to shake his shoulder and Carter opened his eyes, groaning and closing them again. "It's still night," he complained.
"Come on, we've got a mission."
Carter sat up and blinked a few times as Newkirk - satisfied that he was up - walked back to the Colonel's office. Carter yawned and fumbled for his shirt. Being June, the barrack was warm overnight and he chose to sleep in just his pants. He crawled out of his bunk, still feeling sleepy as he made it to the doorway. The Colonel was already talking.
"It will be tight, but if we can get a car from the motor pool we can carry it off. Newkirk."
The Brit nodded and and pushed past Carter and across to the tunnel. Hogan caught Carter's attention. "Get your explosives ready."
"What are we blowing up?"
"Does it matter?" LeBeau asked, his voice tense. He too wondered about the poem, which Kinch had shown to him to double-check translation, and and worried about what it signified.
Carter drew back indignantly. "Do you just throw spices into your soup willy-nilly?" he asked, as LeBeau rolled his eyes. "No, you don't. It's the same with demolitions; different targets require different explosives. The bridge could be concrete or metal. Heck, it could even be wood. How big is it, do you think?"
"Carter," Hogan said, interrupting the steady stream of sentences. "4th of July."
Carter's mouth dropped open. He was never given permission to go full-bore. He backed toward the door. "Oh, y-yes, sir. Y-you betchya, boy…"
Kinch watched him go then turned back to the others. "He was so excited that he could hardly make words."
"Should we be changing into our blacks?" LeBeau asked.
Hogan shook his head. "We'll be too short on time. Baker, grab five others and if we're not back before roll call, I want you to 'escape'... don't go too far and don't push the guards too hard."
Baker went out to select his men and Kinch asked what his task was. "Stay by the radio, if anything changes, I want to know about it."
"The handie talkies will only work at about a miles difference."
"A little warning is better than none at all."
LeBeau leaned closer. "This is the invasion, oui?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
"God willing."
H~H
The guys had left an hour ago and the only thing coming over the radio was static-y dead air. It was these moments of stillness that bothered Kinch the most for they allowed nothing but his undistracted thoughts. He'd done this before - for days, months, years he'd done this- and he knew, if he didn't keep a handle on them, these thoughts could take him to some very dark places. His little sister, Monica, would say it was just him being a worry wart. But once you add to that worry a healthy understanding of the laws of statistics and how miraculous their stats were, it wasn't hard to see why he drifted into Newkirk's way of thinking. Especially when he found himself completely without control.
The latch opened and Baker crawled down the ladder. He looked as nervous as he had when Kinch approached him about becoming the second man on the radio. They sat in silence for a moment before Baker spoke. "How do you think they're doing?" he asked.
Kinch shrugged. "Hard to tell."
"Do you really think this is the actual invasion? I mean there was all sorts of scuttlebutt a month ago, but that turned out to be nothing."
The radioman looked down at the paper with the message scrawled across the bottom. That poem was important. It meant something and what else could it be but the invasion? His gaze drifted up to the unfinished crossword. One cell that had been written in and erased a few times caught his attention.
"Freedom."
Baker frowned. "Pardon?"
"The seven-letter word for autonomy is freedom."
Baker looked over his shoulder and let out a half-laugh, half-snort. He filled in the blocks and settled back on the cot, making himself as comfortable as possible for the long wait ahead.
H~H
The night was muggy and grass dewy as Hogan lead his three men through the woods and as close to the water's edge as they dared to get. The Rhine was full and the water rushed, lapping at the mud and grass. LeBeau and Carter - the strongest swimmers - had already stripped off their service coats and undershirts, and were wading into the water with the packs full of explosives strapped across their shoulders.
LeBeau swam for about six minutes reaching a third of the way out. He clasped on to the metal frame of the train trestle and hoisted himself up. Carter swam past him, picking up speed. LeBeau push any thoughts out of his mind, instead focusing on crawling up the diamond shaped ladder that the framework formed. There were no guards watching the trestle, so the only worry would be passing patrols, but that wasn't even a big worry with le Colonel and Pierre so close to the shore. He paused in his assent to feel his pants pocket where a detonator rested. If he absolutely had to, he would detonate the explosive here and now. He himself would perish before allowing the mission to fail. He continued up with a fresh burst of enthusiasm.
Carter felt the current tugging and pushing against him more and more as he swam. He knew the swim back would be worse as he would be more tired. Selfishly he wished that this espionage thing could be worked at a more reasonable hour. Sure, he'd managed to get a bit of sleep on the ride over, but with Newkirk smoking like a chimney… well, the air inside the car was hardly fit to breathe!
After several more minutes of paddling and kicking, he finally reached his own stopping point, and just in time, too. His muscles were starting to burn from fighting against the current. A little bit of climbing would be a welcome relief. He pulled himself up out of the water and onto the frame. The air was cold against his wet body causing an involuntary shiver.
Newkirk climbed the short length of lattice from the edge of the river and was now in the process of taping the plastic explosives to the wood ties. He could see Hogan hiding behind a tree, scanning the forest behind them. He could see the clouds rolling across the dark sky, starting to get a few breaks. Hell of a night for it, he thought. It looked like it couldn't decide between clouds and rain or a clearer sky. He finished with the tape, attached the wire and climbed back down. He joined Hogan in the tree line, crouching in front of the red plunger, clipped the wire and connected it. One down.
LeBeau felt a surge of relief when he could feel the bottom of the riverbed. He ceased swimming and waded the rest of the way, Newkirk held out a hand and pulled him the final few feet. He allowed Pierre to take the pack with the wire trailing out behind him. He did a bizarre combination of panting and shivering. He skipped his undershirt, opting for the warmth of his red sweater. Newkirk trailed the wire up to the plunger and joined it the connection with his. Two down, one to go.
Carter kept kicking and swimming forward, though he could feel himself growing tired. The water was chilly and it was growing hard to fight. Was he losing his mind or was the river moving faster? He felt a sharp pain in his calf and he let out a cry of alarm that was swallowed by the river.
Hogan paced the riverbank as LeBeau and Newkirk kept watch for patrols. Come on, Carter. He thought, straining to see across the water. He looked at his watch, 03:07. Where is he?
A moment later, he spotted a blond head swimming slowly toward them, then it slipped under the water and out of view. He broke into a run, shedding his jacket as he entered the water. The blond head surfaced, but dipped down again. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the spot where he'd last seen Carter. Diving under, he spotted the younger man struggling with the pack and wire, which was wound around his right ankle.
Work together, they loosened the wire and he surged to the top. He treaded water for a moment, coughing, sputtering and gulping air. Then he resumed the swim, Hogan sticking close to his side. They reached the shore where Newkirk and LeBeau dragged them out. Newkirk taking the wire and connecting it to the punger, while LeBeau helped Carter into his clothes.
"Thanks, sir," Carter gasped out. "I got that cramp and thought I was a goner for sure."
"Let's blow this thing and get out of here," Hogan said, waving off the gratitude.
The three men joined Newkirk at the plunger and Carter shook his head. "Further. We need to go further," he said, grabbing the plunger and leading them a safe distance away so as not to receive any shrapnel. He crouched in front of his plunger, checked the wires and raised it up.
"Better cover your ears."
With that final warning he pushed down and the forest was bathed in light. The ground trembled and the noise was louder than any explosion they'd ever experienced with Carter's creations. Carter whooped. "Would you look at that!"
The fireball was enormous and the smoke billowed up, mixing into the clouds. LeBeau joined him in his hearty celebration with a 'vive la France' shout and Newkirk clapped him on the back.
"Alright, fellas, let's go," Hogan said, bringing everyone back to reality. "We've got to hurry if we're going to be back for roll call. Keep alert for any patrols. They'll have heard that all the way to Berlin!"
TBC
*Radio Londres was a radio station broadcast from London by the BBC, but it was operated by the Free French and aired in Vichy France and the Nazi-occupied coast of France. It was also used to send coded messages to the French Resistance.
*Chanson d'automne(Autumn Song) is a poem published in 1866 and written by Paul Verlaine. Its first six line were used by the British Special Operations Executive (SOE) it alert the French Resistance to the timetable of the invasion.