Disclaimer: I do not own Hogan's Heroes in any way, shape, or form.

Author's Note: Many thanks to Katbybee for beta reading this story and for allowing me to use an image she captured as the cover image. This story was in part inspired by that picture.

It was not often that Colonel Hogan could not manipulate Kommandant Klink into telling him classified information, but on the rare occasions that it happened, it was always memorable. This time proved to be no different.

"Hogan," Klink started as soon as the senior POW officer stepped through the doorway, "the top brass is finally starting to recognize all my accomplishments here at Stalag XIII. In fact, you will never believe who is coming for a visit tomorrow evening."

If Klink expected Hogan to immediately guess the correct name, the way he usually did, he was doomed to disappointment. Hogan and his men were busy putting the finishing touches on a plan to sabotage a new German radio factory and for once failed to intercept Klink's phone calls in time to learn anything useful. Baker made a valiant effort to gather information as soon as he realized that the others were missing it, but he only had time to hear Klink say "Auf wiedersehen," the other person growl something unintelligible yet clearly threatening, and a receiver slam down so hard that Olsen could hear it clear across the room. A few minutes later, Schultz came in and said the Kommandant wanted to see Colonel Hogan immediately. And here Colonel Hogan was, caught flat-footed by Klink, and with no idea where the conversation was going. So Hogan decided to take his chances and play along.

"Thanks for warning us! You know we never like it when Hochstetter drops by unannounced. A day's warning is a great improvement." Hogan's exclamation clearly took Klink by surprise, and not in a good way.

"Hooogaaaann, Major Hochstetter will not be joining us for dinner. He would never trust any food made by the Frenchman."

"No wonder he's so nasty all the time. Clearly he doesn't know the calming powers of good food."

"I do not concern myself with the eating habits of the Gestapo," Klink said, "but General Rhiner, one of the Führer's right-hand men, is considered one of the world's foremost food critics. Word has spread that I, Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, have my prisoners so thoroughly cowed that they cook anything I want. General Rhiner called a few minutes ago to say he was in this area and wanted to know if the rumors were true." Klink sidled closer to Hogan and continued in a voice just a little too loud to be a modest undertone. "He even hinted that there might be a promotion involved if the food is good enough."

Hogan, tired of the Kommandant's posturing, shot him the best *not* cowed prisoner glare that he could muster without making Klink too angry. "I protest. LeBeau is protected by the Geneva Convention, and you cannot force him to cook for you any time you want, general or no general."

"I am well aware of the Geneva Convention, and I am prepared to offer an extra half hour of electricity for a week. And don't forget the obvious advantage a good review from General Rhiner will be after Germany wins the war and you all go home."

Hogan sincerely hoped that Kinch, Newkirk, and Carter managed to calm LeBeau down before he returned to the barracks, and he decided to stretch the conversation a little longer. "Half an hour for a week! That's practically forced labor. I demand an extra hour for a month!"

"An extra hour and a slice of white bread for two weeks."

"Okay," Hogan decided, more anxious to see if there was anything important he could learn than to continue an argument. "Now tell me about this General Rhiner."

"Why should I do that? Corporal LeBeau just needs to cook for him, not write his biography."

"He needs to know what the general likes to eat, for one thing."

"The general did not mention anything in particular. Just have LeBeau cook something like he usually does. I'm sure it will be fine."

"Well I'm not. Are you sure the general did not say anything about places he stopped? Special restaurants in certain towns?"

Klink did not dignify that with a response, only glared until Hogan actually began to wonder whether he had been too obvious. But then Klink just turned away again, giving Hogan a chance to swipe some cigars. "I'm sure the general will be just fine with whatever LeBeau decides to cook. Dismissed."

Hogan could tell that there was no point in sticking around any longer, so he returned to his barracks. To his relief, LeBeau's indignation had dwindled to a vigorous boil, and he decided he would have to thank the others later. But right now there were more important things to do. Something about this General Rhiner and his sudden visit bothered him. Besides, there had to be some reason other than food for him to be in the area, and London might want something from the man.

There were no problems with communication, and Hogan was on the line with London in only a few minutes. London was ecstatic.

"You've done it again, Old Boy," the man on the other end said as though Hogan and his men had just pulled off an important mission instead of asked for information to be used in planning one. "We've been trying to get to General Rhiner for weeks now, but lately no one can seem to get close. He's carrying some very important plans for the next German offensive, from what we've heard. I can't tell you how happy we are to know that you're in on this job now."

"Why hasn't anyone been able to get close?" Hogan felt the strange unsettled feeling in his stomach grow, as if warning him that there was something that London was leaving out.

"There's the rub. It seems that the general has a fondness for hot peppers. Uses them for everything from dessert to scented soap. Naturally the smell gets in everything he owns. All of the agents who already tried to get the plans have been German civilians, and you know what German food is like. No one can stand going near him. They're not used to that sort of thing. We nearly lost one brave soul just yesterday when he was hit with a sudden attack of sneezes that gave away his location. He was lucky to escape with his life."

Hogan's bad feeling returned stronger than ever. Not only did this mean that his men would have to face this unprecedented threat, but somehow he would have to find a way to get LeBeau some hot peppers to cook or risk the wrath of a supposed friend of Hitler being deprived of his favorite meal. "Is there any chance you can drop some hot peppers in tonight?"

"Oh, no chance at all. Best of luck getting hold of those plans."

Hogan signed off and turned to face his men. He could see from their expressions, especially LeBeau's, that this was not going over well. "Kinch, I need you to contact Old MacDonald. See if he knows where we can get hot peppers fast. LeBeau, I need you to find the hottest pepper recipe you can. If you don't have one, you can try the bookshop in town." LeBeau looked outraged at the suggestion that he use a German cookbook, but he knew that he did not have much experience with peppers and there was no time to experiment. "Newkirk, be ready to open the general's briefcase, and Carter, make sure the camera and clothespins are ready."

"Clothespins?"

"You heard London. Even a sneeze could be fatal here."

That evening was filled with mad scrambling to get everything ready. By sheer, dumb luck Old MacDonald knew where the heroes could find hot peppers, but the place was all the way in Dusseldorf. There was only one thing for it. They would need to take a staff car and drive to Dusseldorf that night, Hogan impersonating Colonel Klink. After all, if General Rhiner really was famous for eating hot peppers, then no one would question Klink's motives for buying what would otherwise be a suspicious amount of an unusual food. LeBeau was still having a hard time finding a decent recipe for hot peppers among the prison population, but Old MacDonald said the place where they were going might have one. He originally did not want Hogan and LeBeau to come with him, but Hogan insisted on the grounds that a civilian farmer would have more trouble with patrols than a Luftwaffe Colonel, and LeBeau insisted on seeing for himself where the peppers were sold. He did not like the idea of knowing nothing about his suppliers.

The trip to Dusseldorf was uneventful. Old MacDonald, while an active supporter of the underground, was not given his name for nothing. He did not like being out late, but insisted on accompanying Hogan and LeBeau to help them find the right place to buy the peppers. The conversation was therefore limited to grunts of "left here" and "there's a stop coming up." It was only once they reached a disreputable looking shack on the outskirts of Dusseldorf that things started to get interesting.

Old MacDonald stepped up to the door, opened it to reveal a heavy blanket hanging a few feet behind, and grunted impatiently at Hogan to walk through after the door was shut again. Hogan swaggered inside after a moment's pause. His imitation of Klink was not perfect, but he doubted that anyone other than LeBeau would notice, especially after getting a good look at the place.

The shack was only about the size of one of the camp barracks. There was a single light-bulb without a shade dangling from the ceiling, giving objects strange shadows and dull colors. The floor clearly had not been swept since the start of the war, and all the produce was in old, worn out baskets on rickety tables. The only things that looked like they were maintained were the walls and ceilings, though Hogan suspected that was only to keep light from leaking out at night. LeBeau gave a tiny sniff, and Hogan suddenly realized that there was no smell of rotting food. It was the first encouraging sign he had about the place. They approached a man scowling at them from a table.

"He does not want to be found in possession of a gun," Old MacDonald muttered to Hogan, who suddenly realized that the man's hand rested on the handle of a large ax. It instantly became much easier to imitate Klink's timidity. For once Hogan was entirely out of his depth, and he was very thankful when Old MacDonald decided to take the lead.

"What are these men doing here?" The man grunted in a manner much more frightening than the one Hochstetter used.

"This man needs a large number of peppers," Old MacDonald said. "The fire-breathing duelist is coming to his house for… supper." Hogan did not know it was possible for the usually mild-mannered farmer to sound like he was making a weapons deal, but the ax-man seemed to relax slightly.

"I may have what you need, for a price. Wait here." He went through a door hidden in the shadows, and Hogan turned to Old MacDonald.

"What was that all about?" He muffled the whisper as much as he could.

Old MacDonald did not break character and muttered slyly back. "Your guest is known for dueling anyone he thinks is mocking his menu selection. You were lucky you came to me-this is the only place this side of Berlin where you can find anything that might appease him. Milder peppers would be sub-par."

Who did Klink just invite to supper? There's no way he could have known this, at least not and seem so happy in private that the man is coming. He gulped, seeing that LeBeau heard Old MacDonald's response as well. They would both be glad when the night was over, though tomorrow night looked like it was shaping up to be worse. Just then the man returned with a three gallon basket of peppers so strong that Hogan could smell them from where he stood.

"Here is also a recipe for the… proper way to prepare stuffed peppers for a man like him. Now, my payment." The man put an envelope in the basket with the peppers as he held out his hand. Old MacDonald gave him an envelope that Hogan had never seen before. They took the peppers and left. For some reason Hogan was glad that he was never introduced to the man. Even pretending to be someone else, he did not like the idea of shaking his hand.

Once they were safely in the staff car, the peppers stowed in the trunk, Old MacDonald gave him a look. "I am surprised you never heard of General Rhiner before. They say he was a terror on the Russian front-to both armies. You must understand that you are very important to the Underground. We are willing to deal with Günther every once in a while if it means keeping you safe." He was back to being his old, kindhearted self again. Hogan was beginning to fear the elderly population of Hammelburg. They seemed to have more up their sleeves lately than even he was prepared to handle.

"What did you give him?" Hogan asked. Then he saw the look on Old MacDonald's face. "Never mind. I'm beginning to understand Schultz a lot better."

The next day was eventful. Klink had finally found out about the visiting general's reputation, and it was all Hogan could do to keep him from rescinding the invitation. "For one thing," he said, "yesterday you told me he practically invited himself. Do you really think he would let you deny him now?"

"No," Klink admitted, as pale as the haphazardly scattered paperwork on his desk. The strain of a duel-loving, terror-of-the-Russian-front general coming for supper had upset his methodical routines. "Is there no way to stop him?" I almost wish those saboteurs would blow up the Hammelburg Bridge again. Then the general could not come. Even as he thought it, Klink felt himself go even paler in horror at the inner thought. It would be just like Hochstetter to show up out of nowhere.

Hogan was not actually able to read the Kommandant's thoughts, despite what many in camp believed, but he could tell that he needed further convincing. "Besides, just think about the good word he could put in for you if you live up to his expectations. I can see it now, General Klink, close friend to General Rhiner, fearless leader of men."

"Hogan, there are many ways to become general, and I do not think this is a good one. Living up to his expectations may get me a good word, but not living up to his expectations seems far more likely right now."

"Come on, Kommandant. Give LeBeau a chance. After all, you practically promised him a good review for his restaurant. Or do you want to be Major Klink, the man who never keeps promises to his friends or his enemies." Hogan himself did not want General Rhiner anywhere near Stalag XIII, but London really wanted those plans. He just hoped that LeBeau was not listening in. Thankfully that last argument seemed to convince Klink that there was no good way to get out of hosting the general.

"Alright, Hogan. LeBeau can try, but I have never seen a French meal with hot peppers."

"Don't worry, he's been practicing since roll call. By supper there will be no one better."

Klink still looked somewhat doubtful. "Where did those peppers come from? I didn't requisition them."

"Schultz brought them in as soon as he heard about the general coming. You should thank him."

"Then why didn't he tell me?"

"Oh, he probably thought you already knew."

Neither man said anything for a while, but Hogan stayed and smoked one of Klink's cigars until the Kommandant seemed more confident again. Hopefully his courage would last him through the evening.

The day was tense, both guards and prisoners aware that no matter what happened, the night could easily turn against them at the whim of one man. LeBeau occasionally came out of the kitchen, claiming that he needed fresh air. He was saturated with the scent of the peppers by midday, and the men of Barracks Two alternately called him the bravest man alive for going back inside and cursed the coming hour when he would return to them. There was simply no way the smell would come out of his clothes and hair in under a week, and that was a hopeful estimate.

But all waiting eventually came to an end when a luxurious staff car pulled in through the gates. Out stepped a tall man, fierce looking with an expression like all joy was gone from his face and replaced with the fire if his favorite peppers. He breathed in the air around him, and a slow smile crossed his face as the aroma of the peppers reached him. In the few seconds it took Klink to step out to greet the man, he had transformed from mildly terrifying to positively ghastly. None of the prisoners could hear the ensuing conversation, but as Hogan neared the two he could see that it was taking all Klink had to keep from literally shaking in his boots. Ever since the Argentina incident, Klink had suffered from a strong fear of duelists, and this man's cold menace did nothing to lessen it. Truly "General Weidler's" reputation was alive and well.

"General Rhiner," Klink started the introductions, "this is Colonel Hogan, the senior POW officer. He will be joining us tonight."

"For dinner?" The man's voice was a perfect representation of his face-dry and nasty.

"Yes, he joins all my little get-togethers."

"Yes, I suppose the French are a passionate people. It is always good to keep a poison taster on hand."

The general let himself into Klink's quarters before either man could respond. Hogan could see that Klink's meager courage was failing again, but he thought reassurances would be pointless now. "After you." The words were quiet, but somehow Klink seemed unexpectedly bolstered by the formality.

By the time Hogan and Klink were inside, General Rhiner was already at the table. He cast an imposing figure, bolt upright with his hands on the table corners, his briefcase containing the battle plans rested against the leg of his chair. There was a fey battle light in his eyes, and Hogan quickly looked to Newkirk and Carter. The two had stepped back into the room, hardly daring to breathe in an attempt to keep the mad general from noticing them. There was a dangerous level of awareness about this man, and Hogan had strong doubts about whether they could fulfill the mission.

"Come and sit," the general invited, despite being the guest. "I smell the peppers. Now we will see if this French chef of yours is worth the praise he gets."

Hogan and Klink moved to sit down at the end of the table furthest from the general. Hogan found himself thankful that he was the prisoner here, as a single glance from Rhiner told Klink that he had to sit closer to the general, distancing Rhiner from the prisoner. If Hogan thought the smell that gradually permeated the Stalag (and LeBeau) that day was strong, he soon realized that it was nothing compared to the smell of peppers that accompanied Rhiner. He felt like he could barely breathe, and Klink looked like he was about to fall into a stupor. Newkirk poured their drinks without a word, and Hogan could see he was holding his breath. Carter disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cart filled with dishes of stuffed peppers. Hogan did not know how it was possible, but the smell became stronger. Newkirk, he noticed vaguely, was now standing by an open window.

"We have seven different kinds of peppers prepared for your pleasure," Carter wheezed to the general. "We hope that you will enjoy each variety. Is there a kind that the general would like to enjoy first?"

"I will start with this one," Rhiner said, looking like he thought Carter uncivilized for not knowing what order stuffed peppers should be eaten in. Carter started to serve the mad general, but stopped Rhiner stopped him with a fierce hand gesture. "Put those two on Fink and Hagan's plates," he ordered. Hogan was almost too dazed to notice that Rhiner said his name wrong, but he still managed to feel slightly insulted at being treated like Klink.

Carter had no choice but to do as he was told, and soon Hogan found himself staring in horror at this thing he was about to eat. He and Klink glanced at one another before raising the stuffed peppers to their mouths. Hogan took a bite and lost all sense of time. His mouth was on fire, and the only thing that he could think was that if he did not keep chewing and swallowing then he could not complete the mission. Then there was the threat of Rhiner thinking that Hogan was mocking him and challenging him to a duel. There was no way he could survive a duel with his mouth on fire like this. It simply was not possible.

Dimly he became aware that time had started around him again. Klink looked as tortured as he felt, but it was Rhiner who caught his attention. He was sitting across the table, five stuffed peppers resting on his plate. He had a cruelly amused look on his face as he watched Hogan and Klink's expressions while calmly eating his own peppers bite by bite.

"I knew Americans were a weak people," he said quietly to Hogan, "which is why we Germans will win the war." He glanced at Klink and his smirk only deepened. "And I'm sure that you, Mink, as a German officer will not let me down."

"Certainly not, Herr General," Klink managed, forcing himself to sound as normal as possible despite the effect the peppers had on him. The general should not do this to me, Klink thought, he is not as old as I am. He does not know how hard this is on me. But somehow he managed to give Rhiner a shaky smile.

"Gut. I was afraid for a moment that you would… mock me by failing to try all of the peppers."

"Never, Herr General, I assure you. I want the other six, too."

"Very well. Prisoner, serve the peppers."

And with that, Carter was forced to put more of the peppers on Hogan and Klink's plates. With the mantra of "chew and swallow" running endlessly through his head, Hogan started to eat again. He was never quite sure what happened during the rest of that night, but he had vague memories of General Rhiner laughing delightedly. He also remembered Newkirk and Carter moving rapidly behind Rhiner while the general was distracted by his own horrifying enjoyment of watching Klink and Hogan's faces. Somehow they all lasted to the end of the evening, and as the general was leaving, he turned to Klink.

"There may be hope for you yet. Not half of the general staff in Berlin would be able to eat as you did tonight. I will have to remember this and test you further in the future."

General Rhiner left immediately, and Klink's dread at the general's insinuation, the same self-preserving fear that kept him eating hot peppers through that night, at last took him over completely. He collapsed where he stood in sheer horror at the prospect of this night ever being repeated. Several guards rushed in to take care of the Kommandant, and Hogan realized that Newkirk and Carter were on either side of him, carrying him back to Barracks Two. That was the last thing he remembered for a long time.

Overall the mission was a success, but a few days later it was still quite evident that neither Hogan nor Klink were quite feeling like themselves again. If it was not for their suffering colonel and their recovering sinuses, the prisoners would have enjoyed the rash of roll calls without accompanying speeches, but as it was, morale was down as the men of Barracks Two recovered. It was, therefore, a group of tense prisoners that Schultz found upon walking into the barracks and looked around. Pleased that no one was doing anything suspicious, he turned to Hogan. "The big shot wants to see you."

"What does he want?"

"He told me nothing, but he sent for you right after getting an important message from Berlin. I did not see what it said." A chocolate bar appeared in front of his face. "But I may have seen General Rhiner's name mentioned."

With a sinking feeling, Hogan walked to Klink's office. The colonel was seated at his desk, a strange mixture of elation and disappointment on his face.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Hogan, there will be no good word for me in Berlin. General Rhiner was on his way there until he lost a duel."

"He what?" Hogan could not think of more unexpected news.

"Mm-hmm. It seems he thought an unidentified man was mocking him, so he challenged him to a duel. Apparently the General's aim was ruined when the other man unexpectedly threw an ax at him."

The End.